


Trouble in Paradise

by Antissa



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Alcohol, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Minor canon divergence, Recreational Drug Use, Relationship in Development, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2020-11-08 23:22:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20843732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antissa/pseuds/Antissa
Summary: Claire has found a way to beat the odds, rising to be General of the Minutemen, a Paladin of the Brotherhood, and a force for positive change in the harsh wasteland, but after a tumultuous reckoning with the Brotherhood of Steel and a trip to The Institute, she's forced to reevaluate her choices.A first person POV of the SS near the game's end as she rationalizes taking on The Institute, grapples with her feelings for the BOS, and her responsibilities to the Minutemen.Baby’s first fanfic, so constructive criticism and comments are welcome. Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoy!





	1. So Much for My Vacation

It was the sorta town my mother had always warned me about; a hunting ground for the dregs of society, where seedy people attract seedy goings on and you’re liable to end up dead for snooping around the wrong back alleys. I didn’t like the thugs posted up on every corner, dressed in suits and hoisting tommy guns like something out of a B rated gangster movie. I didn’t like the junkies shooting up on the sidewalk and sleeping off their highs in shadowed corners. I didn’t like their laizefare, anarchist attitudes, and most of all, at the center of the spider’s web that was Goodneighbor, I didn’t like their Mayor. 

He was an egotistical, chem sucking, bombast of a ghoul, who’s get fucked do as you please visions of grandiosity were as much a boon to himself as they were a detriment to the people underneath. Of the people for the people my ass. 

At least that’s what I’d thought after my first visit, fresh off avenging my husband’s murder, a cybernetic implant in my pocket, a synth at my side, and headed for the memory lounge. 

“You’d best get to know the major players here in town,” Valentine had said, cigarette poised between two fingers, gears whirring behind his clever, yellow eyes. “Goodneighbor’s where the filth washes up, which means it always has what you need.”

That, along with a myriad of comments I’d heard from settlers or the Brotherhood, had vividly colored my opinion of the town long before I set foot within its walls. I told myself to try and keep an open mind, but whatever openness I had was quickly squashed by the approach of some raider looking bum not two feet through the front gate. He started talking some shit about insurance, acting the tough guy, baring his smirk like the knife in his hand and after putting a bullet in the man that put a bullet in my husband and trudging half way across the commonwealth with a piece of his brain in hand I was feeling right irritated, murderous even, and If it wasn’t for some snark thrown from Valentine’s direction I’d have popped the pricks head open before suffering through the remainder of his little speech.

From there shit only got worse. A ghoul in some old school threads sashayed out from the shadows like he owned the place, as it turned out he did. He was dressed in a red frock coat and tricorner hat, the American flag tied around his waist. There wasn’t much I could say about that, given my own colonial get up, but it wasn’t the way he dressed that irked me, it was the way he acted. He gave the raider looking guy a few good stabs before trotting back to the Statehouse looking pleased as punch with himself. Called himself Mayor Hancock. In that moment I decided that if the radiated hellscape I’d awoken to could be called a carnival of horrors this shithole would have to be the freakshow. 

So why then, all that in consideration, when I decided to take my little vacation is that exactly where I ended up? Maybe because it was the antithesis of The Castle, with its strict military routine and pervasive atmosphere of upright do-goodery. Maybe it was the welcome anonymity, after all part of my vacation was shedding my general’s uniform for some less auspicious duds and trying to lay low and take a load off. I’d even left behind my revolutionary sword. Call me what you like, but that thing completed the picture and the combat knife I’d replaced it with lacked the same kind of appeal. Most of all though I thought it was that radio station, The Silver Shroud, calling me back like a siren. Shit had gone all kinds of sideways for me back at The Castle and some prewar nicety's sounded like just the right medicine.

I made my way through the doors of The Memory Den and to a door at the right. I’d seen it on my first pass through with Valentine, but hadn’t paid it much attention. Inside was a ghoul by the name of Kent Connolly, prewar, like myself, with a mind for comic books. 

I hadn’t been much for ghouls my first few months in the wastes, watched too many horror shows before the war and the whole zombie aesthetic was a hard thing to shake, even harder than getting used to the idea of synthetic people. Granted, my debacle over Paladin Danse in the Brotherhood and my time spent with Nick Valentine, synth detective and all around great guy, had eased the transition. I never had any outright hostilities with the folks, don’t get me wrong, but didn’t have the best record of say, maintained eye contact or mutual conversation. If I could spend some time hanging around a ghoul I could see eye to eye with I figured it’d be easy enough for me to acclimate, and if there was anything redeemable in this whack job town it was Kent. 

“Hey pal,” I said, startling the guy away from his radio microphone and half out of his seat. He hadn’t been expecting visitors by the looks of it. 

“Whoa there,” he said, righting himself in his chair and squinting up at me, eyes trailing intently over the rifle strung across my back.“You sure know how to give a guy a heart attack.”

I’d gotten so used to the whole General gig that I hadn’t put a lot of thought in what I looked like now. Dressed in gunner gear and combat armor and strapped to the nines with my .308 I must have looked a good deal more intimidating than I’d become accustomed to. I held up my hands in apology and he started to relax.

“Sorry, I’m Claire,” I said, “And you’re Kent Connolly, right? The guy running that Silver Shroud broadcast?”

“You got it. Goodneighbor’s crazy. Thefts, m-murder’s, worse. Sometimes you just got to escape a little to make it through the day.”

“Man, you ain’t kiddin,” I said, shuffling back over the Mayor’s stab-tastic debut, “It’s a mess out there.”

“It’s rough in the best of days. B-but now…” He stuttered quiet, mouth pinched in thought, before recovering with enthusiasm. “You’ve been listening to my broadcasts right? The Silver Shroud. That’s who we need. No matter how bleak things got he’d save the day.”

“My family and I used to listen to every new episode.”

I felt my eyes threatening to grow misty at the memory and was grateful for the dark shades of my sunglasses. I’d just met the guy. He didn’t need to see that shit.

His eyes went wide, mouth open in shock. “You mean, when they first aired? How? The last broadcast was hundreds of years ago.”

Forcing a laugh I plopped down on the couch to his right and he turned his chair to face me. 

“It’s a hell of a story, pal, let’s just say I was on ice. Some kinda cryo facility.”

“That’s amazing!” He leaned forward. “You’re just like mister Abominable from Episode 83.”

His enthusiasm was intoxicating, and I found myself getting swept up in it myself, leaning in to match him. I used to be a real media junky before the war, movies, radio shows, comic books, you name it. It’s been a real disappointment not having anybody around who remembers any of that prewar stuff and this little chat with Kent has already improved my mood more than a good glass of whiskey.

“Yeah! The cave man, right?” 

“That’s the one. They found him in an iceberg off the harbor.”

I wasn’t sure how long I stayed there, talking about Manta Man and Grognak and of course, The Silver Shroud and the Mistress of Mystery, before a break in the conversation finally came. I leaned back into the soft cushion and lit up a smoke, a wistful smile playing across my face. In that beat of silence, Kent’s face lost some of its excitement and became overcast with something else.

“Boy, if you just woke up then the world these days must take some getting used to.”

There it was. I tightened my lips around the filter and took a heavy drag, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke.

“You can say that again,” I said, “But at least people are rebuilding. There’s people out there trying to make it better, and as long as we got that we got hope.”

“Maybe in some part’s like Diamond City.” I grimaced at the name. “But over here. We got a ways to go. Hey,” he looked down at his hands, mulling over his next words, then, voice almost a whisper, said, “I got a question for you.”

“Shoot.”

“What if the Silver Shroud was real?” His eyes darted up to mine and I swear they’re the bluest blue I’d ever seen. “With his black trench coat and gleaming silver sub machine gun?”

“That’d certainly be something, pal,” I said.

“Well, I got a plan to bring him to life. So he can fight bad guys and give the rest of us a symbol of something better. I’ve built my own custom machine gun, even better than the one in the show. But to make this work, I still need the most important piece. The genuine Silver Shroud costume herself.”

I take a final drag and stub out the cigarette. I could see where this was going. So much for my vacation.

“You know where to find something like that?”

“They actually got one, here in Boston. They made it for the TV show. Will you help?”

“What’s your plan exactly?” I asked, giving him a cheeky grin.

“You suit up and clean the streets!” He met my smile with one of his own and gestured to his chest with a thumb. “Together we can make a real difference. You’ll see. So, you in?”

“You got it, Kent.”

“That’s just, that’s just great.” The look of relief on his face had already made the deal a good one. “The costume should be in the Hubris comic’s building not far outside Goodneighbor.” He got up to rifle through an old steamer trunk beside his table, pulling out the submachine gun. Kent offered it out to me with no small degree of reverence and I rose from the couch to take it. “Once you come back with the costume just tune in to the station. I’ll call in any crimes so you can deal with them. Oh! And…” He turned dug into his suit pockets, then handed me a few cards with the Silver Shroud logo. “Be sure to place these down afterwards, so everybody know’s its the Silver Shroud.”

His heartfelt smile was almost too much to take, reminding me all to poignantly of a certain Minuteman I knew. 

“You got it. I’ll be back before you know it.”

He laughed and waved me off as I exited back into the Memory Den, and from there out into Goodneighbor. The sun was riding low and I decided to shack up in the Rexford for the night and leave for Hubris Comics in the morning. Maybe hit up Daisy’s discounts on the way out. I’d always avoided it, and the assaultron next door, but after such a pleasant time with Kent I was feeling a lot better about the whole ghoul thing, and a lot shittier about feeling that way in the first place. Time to make up for lost opportunities. 

I tossed down my caps and took my rest for the night, after a healthy helping of drink of course, and spent some time pondering over the thought with a degree of comfort. The world had changed, not necessarily for the better, and people could change for the worse right along with it, but right now I didn’t feel that way at all. Maybe It wasn’t such a waste to keep trying to turn it to the better if it meant that good people like Kent, or Preston, or Danse, or all the settlers trying to make a living in this new, harsh reality could have hope for the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Feel free to leave comments or suggestions.  
This is a side project for me to let off steam while I cook over a larger work, so I'm not sure about how often I'll update, but If you guys like it I'll do my best to set up a steady schedule. Just let me know!


	2. The Thing About Hubris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire makes a new friend at Hotel Rexford and chat's up Daisy on her way to Hubris Comics. Upon her return she feels she's earned a stiff drink after an unexpected hurdle in the Boston ruins and runs into the person she's least interested in talking to.

I squinted at the hazed pip points on the recon screen of my BOS Knight issue power armor, giving the helmet a few smacks for good measure. Despite my efforts all I could make out was the horrid green fog of the Glowing Sea. The sky belched vivid tracks of lightening, leaving traces of abstract shapes with each iteration, followed by a dissonant rumble. The terrain itself was jagged and uneven, half buried buildings giving way to deep ravines and sudden pitfalls. Worst of all, the fog hid some of the worst aberrations of radioactive mutation: radscorpions, blood bugs, feral ghouls, and deathclaws.   
Behind me I could hear Preston’s heavy footfalls. Between Sturges and I we’d managed to fix up the old T-45 model from Concord, even painted it up in Minutemen colors. Since I’d been given my Brotherhood set it seemed more than logical that the T-45 would pass to Preston. He wasn’t used to moving about in power armor and it showed, but I couldn’t think of anyone else I’d rather have by my side, dangerous as our mission was.

“Doing all right there, General?” He asked, voice crackling through the speaker.

“Doin fine,” I said.

We continued southwest, urged on by the vague possibility of an Institute turncoat living in hiding somewhere in this ragged crater. I tightened the grip on my minigun and hoped to whatever gods may be that if something was out there we’d see it before it saw us. No such luck, as it turned out.

I whirled around to the crunch of steel on stone, Preston knocked prone to the ground by a massive Deathclaw, his laser musket lost to one side. The beast had his arm in its mouth, rocketing its head back and forth like a dog with a chew toy, testing the limits of the metal’s strength. I didn’t like to think on what would happen if it broke through the armor and exposed him to the irradiated air.

I steadied my minigun, but at this range I’d just as likely shred Preston as the Deathclaw and couldn’t take the risk. With no other options I charged at it shoulder first, bashing it off of him with a heave. The beast seemed unfazed, turning on me with a ear-splitting roar to return the favor, smacking aside my gun with one swing of its tremendous claws and raining blow after blow down upon my head and chest. I raised my arms to defend, but only gave it an opening to lunge forward, taking me to the ground. My head slammed against the inside of my armor, leaving my ears ringing in time to the pounding in my skull. The world blurred and for a moment all I could see was the Deathclaws gaping maw hovering over me. It roared and brought both of its fists down upon the helmet, driving me deeper into the rocky earth. It reared back for another strike, but fell away, struck across the stomach and chest by a flurry of shots from Preston’s musket. 

“Get up!”

The words seemed distant, but I obeyed as best I could, scrambling to my feet and reclaiming my minigun. I steadied my aim and fired alongside Preston. Between both of our onslaughts the beast finally succumbed, dropping to the ground with a hideous thud, chest ruined and spattered with blood. 

“Whew, that was a close one,” said Preston, “I thought you were done for.”

“Takes more than that,” I said with a laugh, “Now lets find this Virgil guy so we can get the hell out of here.”

“You took the words right out of my mouth, General.”

A wisp of air trickled in to sear along my cheeks and forehead, hot and biting, almost acidic. Radiation. My helmet had been compromised. I could feel it eating away at me, could feel my flesh dripping off my bones like molten metal, pooling into the base of my helmet. I turned to Preston, but he was gone, lost to the glowing fog. I turned in circles, tried to scream, but the wind had stripped away my lips and tongue. I was alone, all alone, and I was dying. I gurgled, dropped my minigun, and tried to remove my helmet, but it was stuck fast, sealing me inside my steel tomb. 

I lurched awake in my room at the Hotel Rexford, gasping for breath in the early morning sunlight. I coughed, gagged, then coughed again, violently expunging a heap of sickish phlegm from my lungs and onto the floor. For a moment I could swear it writhed, somehow alive, but with the sun came clarity and the nightmare faded, though the sight of the bloody, pulpy mass was still disgusting. I wiped my mouth and rolled out of bed to paw through my rucksack for a pouch of radaway. I lined up the IV with the vein of my left arm and stuck true, holding the bag aloft with my other hand and sighing with pleasure as the fluid purged the radiation from my blood like a priest exorcising demons. It had been almost two months since the glowing sea, but here I was, still having these awful dreams. 

I should have told Preston. I should have high tailed it back as soon as I’d realized my suit was broken, but I was hungry to see inside The Institute, hungry to see all my struggles end, and hell, hindsight’s always twenty twenty, right? Who’d have thought that after all this time I could never quite eradicate the crater’s radiation from my veins. It had crept in and stayed, resolute despite my repeated applications of radaway. It looked like I was stuck with it and the dreams it carried. 

Once the radaway had taken its course I found the will to start the day. I buckled my shadowed combat armor over my gunner clothes, brushed my dark bob into place, settled my cap over my head and pulled it low over my sunglasses. Finally, I checked over my rifle, admiring its polish in the gentle light, fussing over it until I was sure that it would fire true. 

With my morning ritual complete I packed my rucksack and left my room, eager for an easy foray into Boston. On my way downstairs I caught sight of a ghoul watching me from a crack in the doorway of his room. He eyed me with something like suspicion before poking his head out and making himself known. 

“No, it can’t be,” he rasped. 

I cocked my hip, rifle and rucksack held over one shoulder, and gave him a questioning look, something that said ‘can I help you?’

“It’s…It’s YOU. From Sanctuary Hills, right?” He came all the way out of his room and I noted his Vault Tech uniform. Man, life had a funny way of kicking you while you were down.

“I could be. What’s it to ya?”

His laugh was dry and bitter.

“Yeah its you all right,” he came over and looked me up and down, “But how! It’s been two hundred years and you’re still perfect!”

“Perfect?!” I said, jutting my face towards his, the lenses of my sunglasses almost flush with his nasal cavity. “You Vault Tech assholes flash froze us then fucked off.”

He backed off, face twisted with confusion.

“I…I had no idea. Vault Tech never told me that. Unbelievable!”

“Believe it.”

“Well, I had to get to the future the hard way,” he said, regaining some mettle and meeting my shades with his own furious stare, “Living through the…filth! The…decay! And the bloodshed! Look at me! I’m a ghoul! A freak!”

“Look man,” the hurt in his voice had gotten to me, “I’m sorry. I guess they did both us of dirty.”

His face softened.

“You know…you’re the only one I’ve ever met from…from before, from before I…” The levy broke, his mouth drooping in anguish. He cradled his head in his hands and seemed on the verge of tears. “Oh god! I’ve been so alone here. No commonwealth settlement wants a ghoul with two hundred years of Vault Tech sales experience.”

I glanced up and down the hallway, making sure there was no one else around, before I leaned towards him and placed a hand on his trembling shoulder. My hand buzzed uncomfortably from the contact and my pip boy cried out in distress. I had to force myself to maintain the gesture. Damn radiation.

“I might know a place you can go,” I said.

He moved his hand and looked down at me with a mixture of disbelief and mistrust.

“Go back to Sanctuary,” I continued, voice low, “There’s a nice group of settlers there now. They’re good folks and they won’t care if you’re a ghoul.”

“How can you be sure?”

I gave his shoulder a squeeze and stepped back.

“Ask for Sturges, tell them the General sent you. They’ll let you in. I’ll come back and visit. I promise.”

His eyes narrowed as he processed the information. 

“You mean…you’re the-”

“Yeah, just don’t go spreading it around Goodneighbor, OK? I’m…uh…undercover.”

“Right…” His upper lip quivered before breaking out in a grateful smile. “Alright, I’ll…I’ll head over there right now.” He ducked back into his room to grab his things, only to poke his head back out the door. “You promise you’ll come visit right?”

I nodded and gave him a thumbs up. His smile widened.

“Ok, I’ll see you there,” he said.

He disappeared back inside, this time for good. I sighed and shook my head. This town just kept surprising me. 

Like Kent, Daisy of Daisy’s Discounts turned out to be an absolute delight. A real, no fucks given, tough as nails kind of gal. I liked her immediately, so when she asked if I could return a book to the library for her and clear out some pests it was an easy yes ma’am reply. I was already going out for the day. One more little to-do on the list. I left Goodneighbor behind for the ruins of Boston feeling pleased and ready to take on the wasteland.

My trip to the library proved a straightforward task. The main entrance was boarded up tighter than a clam and the employee entrance was locked, but, as luck would have it, the security system was still in operation. I managed to bluff my way through its questions, employee of the library my ass, and have it let me inside. After that it was easy pickings. 

Of all the opponents out here I favored supermutants. Raider’s were my favorite to kill, but often proved difficult targets, holed up in their shanty villages, high on chems and paranoid as all hell. Ferals were easy to take down, but good at nasty surprise attacks from under cars or around corners. Not the best for a long ranged fighter such as myself. Supermutants though, they were big, slow, and stupid. Ideal for picking off one by one from a distance. To make a good job better the library was full of twists and turns and hiding spots, with the majority of the mutants already engaged in a fight with the library’s security. I was in and out before lunch. 

Hubris Comics proved a more challenging operation. From my first foot through that door it was nothing but trouble. Loaded to the brim with ferals; it proved to be a long, perilous slog to the top floor. I managed to collect a few extra odds and ends I thought Kent might like along the way, but by the time I’d found the costume I was damned ready to move on. I just about had it in my clutches when a rustle behind me caught my attention. I turned in time to dodge a lunging feral, who flew past me with a disgusting gurgle and tumbled to the floor.

“Oh for fuck sakes,” I mouthed, gripping my rifle with both hands.

Of all the things I’d hoped not to encounter out here number one was a glowing one. As it rose to its feet I butted the stock of my rifle down on the back of its head, but the blow didn’t seem to hurt it, only serving to knock it back to the ground. I was in real trouble now.

I started tearing the costume away from the manikin as fast as my hands could work, the groaning of the ghoul hot on my tail. It lunged towards me a second time, catching a piece of my leg as it whiffed past, digging its fetid claws into the back of my knee. I stifled a cry, feeling blood trickling down along my calf, and stuffed the costume into my rucksack. It hurled itself against me with inhuman speed, knocking me backwards and up against the wall, my rifle pressed against the dangling flesh of its neck to hold off its gnashing teeth. It’s nails dug for purchase against my arms, wriggling into the crevices of my armor and tearing through skin. I could feel the caustic heat of its radiation like a furnace, its wild, green eyes mere inches from my own, mouth growing closer with every snap of its jaws. 

My eyes darted about the room for an escape and I spotted a ladder to my right. Now all I had to do was figure out how to get there. I turned back to the glowing one and heaved a kick into the front of its knee, cracking it backwards and out of place with a sickening crunch. It tottered drunkenly and I flung it to the floor. It crawled after me, mad with rage and hunger, gibbering from its gaping mouth. I took off for the ladder, limping along much slower than I’d have liked, when I felt a twinge emanating from my chest. 

“Not now,” I wheezed, feeling a coughing fit rise. 

I held it back, gasping in air like sucking through a straw as I clamored towards the roof access ladder. I caught the rungs and drug my body upward, right leg refusing to hold my weight and dangling along behind. The ghoul howled beneath me and by the ladder’s violent shaking I could guess it was trying to scramble along behind me. 

I tore open the door to the roof and threw my torso up and out of the narrow shaft. Just as I thought myself free and clear I felt something clamp down around the ankle of my injured leg, almost managing to tug me free of the ladder and back down to the floor below. I held my ground, fingers white knuckle tight around the rim of the opening, and landed a solid kick with my good leg. The grip loosened, then released, allowing me to pull myself onto the roof. Drunk on adrenaline I turned and sat along the edge, peering down the ladder and to the glowing one spread eagle on the floor below. It righted itself with a quickness and began another mad dash up the ladder. I readied my rifle, took careful aim, and fired, the .308 tearing through its forehead and out the back with a gruesome explosion of green flesh and splintered bone. It fell for the final time and landed with a distinct thud. 

I lowered my weapon and slammed the door shut, gauging the rooftop for threats while I still had my wits. It seemed empty and I managed to crawl into a corner before the burning of my chest could no longer be ignored. My breath came out in thin squeaks as I hacked up another wad of bloodied flesh. The sky began to spin as my vision tunneled until, like someone switching off a light, my world went black.

When I finally awoke I was awash in bright afternoon sunlight. I must have slept the whole night and then some on that roof. I sat up, wincing at the pain in my leg, and rustled through my back for a stimpak. I injected it behind my knee and gasped as the cool fluid washed through my aching limb. Secondly I administered a radaway, which eased the tightness in my chest and the throbbing in my head. Ever since The Glowing Sea, radiation had been my Achilles heel, and I could only blame poor luck that what had seemed a simple retrieval job had almost gotten me killed. 

Once the chems had done their work I crept back to Goodneighbor, careful to avoid any threats along the way. My injured leg was healing quickly, but still felt stiff and awkward, and when I finally crossed back through the town walls all I could think of was a drink and a good sleep. I stopped by Daisy and gave her the good news.

“It really means a lot to me that you made the library a safer place,” she said with a twinge of a smile, “But frankly, you look like hell kid.”

“I feel it.” I managed a laugh.

“Get yourself a little somethin at The Third Rail,” she said and handed me some caps, “You’ve earned it.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” I thought.

I figured I’d check back in with Kent tomorrow after a good nights rest. Can’t have the Silver Shroud looking like they’d blow over in a brisk wind after all. I hobbled past the bouncer who gave me a curt nod. I think his name was Hobbs or Hal or something like that. Either way he wasn’t much for talking. More the strong silent type, which suited me just fine. 

The stairs proved a challenge for my knee, but I managed well enough with the promise of liquor at the bottom. The Third Rail was a cozy joint, settled into what had once been a subway station, and was the only place I’d seen that sported live entertainment. It wasn’t exactly happy hour so the place was thin on patrons, which I preferred, and I made myself comfortable at the bar. The bartender, a Mr. Handy called Whitechapel Charlie, whirred over to me. 

“What’ll it be, gov?” 

“Whatever beer you feel like grabbin,” I said. 

“You got it.”

He slid me a piss warm Gwinnet lager and I choked it down. Fuck I missed cold beer. Whiskey was just fine room temperature, but warm beer just wasn’t natural. I ordered a second and allowed myself a brief nostalgic wallow over all the lost amenities while I sipped on it. Maybe if I somehow hauled a busted fridge to Sanctuary then Sturges could fix it up. What a moral boost that would be. 

My musings were interrupted by some chatter from upstairs. I couldn’t make out exactly what they were saying, but by the noise of it whoever was coming down was somebody important. I wonder who that could be? I pulled the brim of my cap lower over my sunglasses and hunched into as inconspicuous a ball as I could manage, already planning to finish off my beer and boogie as soon as I deemed it unsuspicious to do so. I wasn’t in the mood for a conversation with that playboy Mayor anymore than I was in the mood for wrestling a yao guai. 

The footsteps and chatter hit the bottom floor, the light patter of the Mayor’s boots accompanied by heavy thuds I could only imagine were his body guard. I’d heard her name was Fahrenheit, which seemed fitting for her red hair and explosive demeanor, and thought that I’d prefer the yao guai to her any day. I heard them travel to my right and the whump of someone sitting down when the lady in question rolled up beside me at the bar and ordered for his highness. I looked the other way and sipped my beer, withholding a sigh of relief as she passed over me and returned to the Mayor. A few more quick gulps and my beer was finished. I tossed my caps onto the counter, gave Charlie a nod of thanks, and slid towards the exit. 

“Hold it sister,” came a voice, gravely and dangerous, “I’d like to believe I’m real good with faces, but I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of seein yours. How about you step my way.”

Teeth gritted, I complied. The Mayor lounged against the couch, arms spread across the back, his bodyguard standing behind him with murder in her eyes. He tipped back the brim of his tricorner and gave me a good look over, lips a tight line, eyebrows furrowed, before his face broke into a welcoming smile. 

“Have a seat,” he said, patting the chair to his left and pulling a canister of jet from the pocket of his red frocked coat. 

I sat while he took his hit, the vapor of his exhale escaping around his face in languid spirals, shrouding him in half cast shadows. 

“Now tell me, what’s your name stranger?” He asked.

“Claire,” I said, more stiff than I’d intended.

“Whoa there, relax. This ain’t an inquisition. We ain’t that kinda town. I just like to get to know the people that roll through here. You feel me?”

“Yeah, I feel you.”

“Good,” Charlie hovered past, dishing out a couple of drinks that I assumed were for the Mayor and his muscle. He caught me by surprise when he passed one off to me. I took it cautiously, not wanting to offend, and when he tipped the neck of his bottle my way I responded in kind, clanking the two together. He took a swig and I followed suit. 

“Ya see,” he said, “We’re just havin an amicable conversation.”

“Right…”

Not wanting to be outclassed I popped a cigarette from my pack and offered him one. He took it and we both smoked and drank a few moments in silence. 

“Look,” he finally said, “I don’t care about your business here, and you seem the respectable type, just know…” He leaned forward, head ensnared in smoke, obsidian eyes boring through my shades, “This is my town, and anyone who stirs up trouble here becomes my problem.”

I nodded, refusing to break his stare. He leaned back and the tension broke.

“Glad we’ve got an understanding. Feel free to come by my office if you find yourself…in need.”

I finished off my drink and offered him some caps for it, which he refused, before leaving for the Hotel Rexford. I still wasn’t sure what that guy was about, but as one leader to another I’d come to respect his position. This was a tough town in a tough time and that wasn’t an easy thing to deal with. Diamond City delt with it by burying their heads behind their walls and pretending the problems outside didn’t exist. It was effective, but reprehensible, and I had to say that Mayor Hancock had left a better impression on me that that Mcdonough character. At least Mayor Hancock came off honest. I wasn’t sure if the he seemed the type to stick his neck out for anybody, and allying with the Minutemen would certainly incur some risk, but it was something to mull over. We needed all the support we could get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second verse, much longer than the first.  
I suppose I should admit some mild canon divergence and adjust the tags accordingly. I get that there's all these anti-radiation medication in Fallout, but I always had to suspend disbelief for such a squishy bean like the SS not getting radiation sickness after gaining more rads after like five minutes outside the vault than she'd gained in her entire life. Especially since she HAS to go into the Glowing Sea for the plot.  
Otherwise, thank you so much for reading this! Constructive criticism and comments are welcome!


	3. The Silver Shroud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire reminisces over the past while waiting for broadcasts from Kent, then takes up the mantle of the Silver Shroud, dishing out do-good justice on the crooks of Goodneighbor. However, her actions are not without consequences, and she finds herself embroiled in a war with a cutthroat gang of raiders led by their enigmatic leader, Sinjin.

By the next day my exchange with the Mayor was still ringing in my ears, even while I shrugged off my armor in favor of the Silver Shroud costume. I’d paid a few days in advance at the Rexford so I could leave my gear behind, though it was with the utmost regret. The costume was exactly that, a costume; on the outside I thought I looked damn good, but I couldn’t help but shake the insecurity of nothing but cloth between me and a well placed bullet. 

I shrugged the thought aside, risk or no I’d already made my agreement, and turned my radio to Kent’s station. I smoked awhile and listened to the stories, which, by right, was all I’d intended to do in the first place when I came here. My mind couldn’t help but wander to the Minutemen, The Castle, and the companions I’d left behind.

The whole vacation thing had been Preston’s idea. It’d been a hot button issue between us since we’d come back from The Glowing Sea. 

“You’re pushing yourself awful hard, General,” he’d remarked one evening, both of us crowded around a small fire in the wastes.

We’d just finished clearing out a hoard of ferals for a farm called Somerville Place. It’d been grueling work, but in the end they’d agreed to support the Minutemen and we were headed back towards The Castle to arrange for a squad to relocate there. They had plenty of space to spare and had been accepting, grateful even, at the idea of building a small structure on their property for a contingency of Minutmen to settle in. I had grand plans for it as our southwestern forward operating base, but for right now that was good enough. However, the settlement was practically touching the edges of The Glowing Sea and the radstorms on the horizon had us both on edge. I had been feeling sick and irritable, popping rad-x like candy to keep the nausea at bay, and I looked it. 

“The work’s never done,” I said, a touch of bitterness creeping through, “Isn’t that what you always say?”

He shuffled on the cold ground, taking off his hat and running his hand across the top of his head. His colonial duster was weathered and dirty, his shoulders slumped. I regretted the snark in my voice and reminded myself that for everything I’d done for the Minutemen Preston had been right there beside me. He was just as tired as I was, maybe more so; he’d been doing the gig a lot longer, that was for sure.

“Look…I know I put you in an almost impossible position when I asked you to lead the Minutemen,” he said, “I didn’t have any right to ask you to take that on…I guess I was kind of desperate at that point.”

“That a compliment?” I asked, baring a cheeky grin and pulling a bottle of whiskey from my bag. 

I took a swig from the bottle and offered it to him. He took it after some deliberation and had a sip, grimacing against the taste.

“I’m being serious here,” he continued, “Frankly, I still don’t know why you said yes…If it was for me, for the commonwealth, or for some other reason.”

He passed the bottle back and I took another drink, larger than the first. This conversation was going to take all the liquid courage I could handle.

“At first it was for me,” I said, staring into the fire, “After Nate, after Shawn…I couldn’t take it. I stayed in Sanctuary a lot longer than I should have, afraid to leave, afraid to see the world for what it had become.” I passed him the bottle. “And when I finally got to Concord and found you, I thought, here’s somebody who could help me become strong enough to survive out here, someone to help me find my son.” He took a drink and passed it back. “But then we met all these people, desperate, hopeless people everywhere we went and something clicked. It wasn’t about me anymore. It was something bigger.” I took a drink and looked him hard in the eye. “You’re a good man Preston Garvey, don’t you ever forget that.”

The faintest blush trailed its way across his cheeks before he looked away.

“I just want you to know that I appreciate everything you’ve done, General, I really do, but…”

“But?”

“But if you keep going on like this you’re not going to see the other side of that teleporter Sturges is building,” his voice dropped to a whisper, “And I can’t do this on my own.”

I reached out to take his hand.

“You won’t have to Preston, I promise, I’m seeing this thing through to the end no matter what.”

He hadn’t seemed convinced, and by the time I’d returned from The Institute he’d roped Danse into his concern. By then though, I’d been a lot more accepting of the suggestion. 

The first Silver Shroud bulletin came through, Kent’s voice ringing loud and clear over my pip boy. I listened intently to his instructions, taking up his machine gun and double checking to make sure I’d put the calling cards in my coat pocket.

“Wayne Delancy, huh,” I muttered, pulling the scarf high around my face, “Death is coming for you, and I am it’s shroud!”

The first two were easy targets, and I found myself getting real into the roleplay. Doing this kind of shit as the General was hard, lots of consoling, always searching for the right words to say, but it came easy as the Shroud, and there was a certain amount of fun that came with playing the part.

The third target was a little trickier and I once more found myself inside The Third Rail, grilling Whitechapel Charlie over the whereabouts of someone named Kendra. Then, it was off to Water Street Apartments. The raider’s there proved tougher than expected and I ended up resorting to my rifle to get the job done in lieu of Kent’s machine gun. In the end I got the card to Kendra’s corpse, so I called it a win regardless. 

Back in Goodneighbor for the night another broadcast from Kent came over the radio and much to my chagrin I needed to speak with, of course, Mr. Mayor. I knew I shouldn’t be surprised, especially after his little introduction in the Third Rail, but I still found myself apprehensive. I made my way to the Statehouse, keeping to the shadows and avoiding prying eyes. The Mayor was waiting for me upstairs in his office, cool as a cucumber, cigarette in hand, Fahrenheit staring intently from the couch. 

“Guess what someone tells me? Some costumed freak is operating in Goodneighbor.” He took a drag off his cigarette, the smoke rolling from his mouth as he continued. “And the kicker is it ain’t me. How should I feel about this?” He didn’t seem to recognize me from earlier, which was good, and rather than give him the chance to figure it out I decided to double down on my new persona. Based on his whole aesthetic he might even like it. 

“This neighborhood is ill. I am the cure,” I said, mustering my best dramatic voice.

All at once, his grim facade melted, and he belted out a husky laugh. Fahrenheit picked up a magazine with a roll of her eyes and began flicking through it. 

“You’re priceless,” he said, “Like the Silver Shroud himself, or herself I guess, walked out of a comic book and into my den. Just priceless.” His smile dipped and he regained an air of serious composure. “You been busy scaring people. Bashing in a few faces. I respect that. So far. But I gotta ask, one freak to another, why the get up?”

I struck a commanding pose.

“Many have sought to pierce the Shroud. To no avail.”

“You just don’t stop. Stay you, pal,” he took another drag and continued, “Now look, the low-lives you took out all belong to the same asshole. And that asshole’s planning some old-fashioned revenge on you. You dig? Fortunate for you, I want Sinjin to take a dirt nap. He’s taken two bit raider outfits and made them…scary. Small fish now, but if left alone…”

I bristled at the implication. Raider’s were as much a threat to my people as his. Silver Shroud aside, this was something I could get behind. 

“He will be judged for his crimes,” I said, clenching my fist.

“Trust me, he needs a lot of judging.” The Mayor stamped out his cigarette to emphasize the point. “Got a lead on two of his own: Smiling Kate and Northy. Smiley is gathering a posse to take you out. And Northy is just running scared. Hired himself some goons and is holding up in Prospect. Just keep piling those body bags up until you find the location of the big guy himself.”

“Sinjin thinks he’s above judgement. But no one is safe from the Silver Shroud!”

“Don’t get killed,” he said, looking almost concerned, “You deal with Sinjin and I’m inclined to show you some gratitude. You feel me?”

I nodded and made my dramatic exit, coiling the scarf high around my face, coat swirling behind me. I managed to keep in character all the way to the hotel, but safe inside my room I let the agitation flow. If the last group of raider’s had been tough, then this was a rifle job for sure. I felt terribly guilty leaving behind Kent’s beautiful machine gun, but up front assaults just weren’t my style, not outside of power armor anyways. Besides, taking on a large group of thugs in open territory in nothing but a costume was pure suicide. Plain and simple. When it came down to it, there was fighting fair and honorable, then there was fighting to win. I preferred to win.

Smiley and her men went down far quicker than expected. They were all hanging around an open street, clustered together and I guess waiting for the Silver Shroud to roll through. I’d perched myself on an adjacent roof top. They were all dead by the time the first guy hit the ground. After that it was a matter of dropping off the calling card.

Northy, he was a bit tougher, hiding out in that building in Prospect, but after I dropped the first guy through a window all hell broke loose and they ran for it. Big mistake. After that they were easy pickings. I placed my card, the last that Kent had given me, and returned to Goodneighbor. With any luck that Sinjin guy would make his appearance in a few days. 

As I ducked through the front gate and into town I found it oddly deserted. Daisy and the assaultron, KL-E-O, were nowhere to be found, as were the drifters that tended to frequent their shops. in the distance I could hear rallied voices, an angry crowd, and above them, the voice of the Mayor. 

I sidled along the Statehouse wall towards the pavilion below the Mayor’s balcony, peering out from the shadows to survey the scene. Everyone in Goodneighbor had turned up it seemed, and they were in one hell of an uproar, screaming something about raiders and the Memory Den. My hand clenched against the brick. I had a bad feeling about this. 

“Scum like that think they can just barge in here and take people in our town?” The voice of the Mayor, bellowing out from his balcony, rife with fury.

A chorus of heated replies from the people below. My eyes narrowed, knot growing in my stomach, threatening to upend my latest meal onto the street. As silently as I came I crept back to the entrance of town and clicked my pip boy over to Silver Shroud radio. I listened to the broadcast, teeth gritted. It only confirmed my worst fears. 

“If you want to see your friend alive, Shroud, meet me at Milton General Hospital,” Sinjin’s voice drifted through the microphone, low and taunting, dripping with venom.

“Don’t do it, Shroud! It’s a trap! Save yourself!” Kent’s voice, followed by a gunshot and screaming. “Oh my god! Do it Shroud!”

I slammed the dial on my pip boy and cut off the broadcast. While I’d been off dealing with his goons, Sinjin had come to Goodneighbor with an armed contingency and kidnapped Kent. I brought up the hospital’s location; it was about a days walk to the southwest. My calves screamed in protest, but I ignored it, jamming a Med-X into my thigh before starting for the door. 

“Just where do you think you’re going, pal?” 

I turned to see the Mayor, mouth set in a tight grimace, eyes dangerous, a double barrel shotgun draped across his shoulder. Apparently I hadn’t been as stealthy as I’d thought. He was alone, no bodyguard, no watchmen or floozies, and for the first time I considered him carefully, not just as a Mayor, but as a man.

“Take a good guess,” I said, tone grim.

“All by your lonesome, you’re breakin my heart, here.”

“Don’t fuck with me,” I growled, patience failing, “I got him into this mess and I’m getting him out.”

He took a few steps forward, grip tightening on the butt of his shotgun, the muscles of his jaw standing out like cords. 

“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but Kent is one of my people. I’m not about to let that shit go.”

“So you’re gonna, what? Haul half of Goodneighbor out there to get him back,” I said, “They’ll shoot him dead before you can get inside the building.”

He forced a rictus grin and leaned towards me, tipping back the brim of his hat.

“Oh no, this one’s gettin a personal touch.”

His smile unnerved me, which said a lot considering the shoulder’s I’d been brushing up against the last few months. It was wild and furious, a foil to the icy determination in his eyes. This wasn’t just some publicity stunt to him. This mattered. Kent mattered. 

“Just me and you?” I said.

He nodded.

“Fine,” I adjusted the strap of my rifle across my chest and stepped through the front gate, “Try not to slow me down Mr. Mayor.”

His expression didn’t change.

“I bet you’re real fun at parties, gunner girl,” he rasped, following along behind.

I tried not to act surprised that he’d seen through the Shroud costume. It wasn’t a hard thing to put together after all. Stranger shows up in town, costumed vigilante starts tearing up the streets, not a huge leap of reasoning, but it proved there was more to the Mayor than chems and charisma. There was something going on upstairs. The case to offer him a Minutemen deal just kept building.

We camped for the night in a building not far from Milton General. I eyed it through my rifle’s scope, taking in its defenses, the Mayor behind me popping a mentat from a tin in his coat pocket. He drifted to the window at my side, resting his arm against the wall and squinting towards the hospital. My pip boy crackled from his rads and I resisted a shiver. He shifted at the sound, putting some distance between us, and settled into a run down couch. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, either sleeping or thinking deeply. I wasn’t the best at conversation, especially with someone I hardly knew, so I let him be, too focused on the task ahead.

“So what’s your story, gunner girl,” he asked.

The sudden break in silence made me jump. I passed him a calculated glance. He hadn’t moved. Hadn’t even looked up or opened his eyes. I didn’t answer and returned to my surveillance, hoping he’d let up on the personal talk. He didn’t.

“We all got secrets, but I ain’t exactly comfortable runnin into a death trap with somebody I don’t know anything about. Give a ghoul a break, whouldja?”

“What’s there to tell,” I said, choosing my words carefully, “I’m a mercenary. Caps for blood. You know the drill.”

I heard rustling as he shifted on the couch. The strike of a lighter.

“Now I’d be inclined to believe that before you showed up at my office in that get up, but now, I ain’t so sure. Kent payin you to do what you’ve been doin?”

“You’re payin me to off Sinjin aren’t you,” I retorted.

“Not anymore I’m not,” he said, “What am I payin you for if I’m here doin the job with ya?” I clicked my tongue in irritation. “So what’s your game? You gonna fuck off now that there’s no caps in this?”

He’d gotten me good. I lowered my gun and cast him a withering glower. He sneered in response, smoke billowing through his teeth. I didn’t answer, instead crossing over to my rucksack and rummaging around for a couple cans of whatever garbage I had saved. I tossed the Mayor a can of cram and opened one for myself. I took a rad-x and started eating, powering though the taste with sips of purified water. 

“I guess that answer’s my question,” he shrugged and opened up his can.

After some consideration I tossed him a water too. He may have seemed together back in Goodneighbor, but the hot headed idiot had left without any provisions; just his gun, his ammo, and the clothes on his back, like he was looking to die out here.

Afterwards we enjoyed a quiet smoke, me taking sips from my whiskey bottle as I wound down towards sleep. It wasn’t easy, my mind was wired from the tension and all I could think of was poor Kent, languishing somewhere in that hospital with those rotten assholes. The Mayor, to his credit, seemed more on edge that usual, but that was nothing a pump of jet couldn’t fix. He fished an inhaler from his pocket and took a puff, melting into the cushions of the couch. He started putting it away then thought better of it, instead offering me the inhaler. I shook my head. Medicinal chems were one thing, but Jet was a whole different ball game. If we’d been back in Goodneighbor I might have taken it, but not here, not the night before such an important rescue mission. He shrugged, as if to say ‘suit yourself’, and pocketed the inhaler. I offered him a sip of whiskey in return and he accepted with enthusiasm, taking a hearty swallow before passing back the bottle.

“You got…odd manners for a merc,” he said, the words dragging long and slow.

“How so?” I said, curling into a chair for the evening, “You give me something, I give you something. Fair trade.”

“Most people don’t see it that way. They take what they can get and they run with it. Not you though. What’s that about?”

“Don’t get sentimental,” I laugh, “I don’t like owing people. Don’t make it bigger than it is.”

“You’re real shitty at lying, you know that?” He sat up, giving me an intense once over with those obsidian eyes. “At first I thought you were some drifter, rolling through lookin for caps, but then, after I gave you that beer, you passed me a smoke. Now that ain’t enough on its own, nothin more than courtesy maybe, but then you tried to pay me for the beer too. I don’t know how you think mercs act, sister, but gettin them to part with caps is like gettin a mongrel to part with a carcass. You ain’t a merc and you ain’t a drifter, so what the hell are you?”

I thought it over and decided now wasn’t the perfect time to throw out my Minutemen suggestion, given the circumstances, but it was as good a time as any to get my foot in the door. I sank into my chair and sighed, feigning defeat.

“Alright Mayor, you got me,” I said, “Truth is, I work for the Minutemen. I’m guessin you’ve heard of em?”

“A thing or two, sure.”

“I’m like a scout. I’ve been combing through some of the bigger cities, lookin to see if any of them might be up for an alliance. Diamond City was a bust and I heard about Goodneighbor from there. Thought I’d check you folks out before I reported back.”

“Oh yeah,” he sounded intrigued, “And what’ve you got to say about us.”

“You’re higher on my list than Diamond City, if that’s the validation you’re lookin for.”

“Good to hear,” he chuckled, “Glad the Minutemen don’t have their heads up their colonial asses.”

“You’re one to talk,” I muttered, taking a swig of whiskey and passing it off.

He took it and downed another mouthful like it was water. This man was no Preston for sure. He could handle his liquor and then some. 

“You like the threads,” he said, wiping his mouth, “Thought they gave me a sexy, king of the zombies kind of look. Real hit with the ladies.”

A laugh escaped me before I could stop it and he seemed to swell with the attention. 

“I’ll be here all night.” He handed back the bottle. “And I take requests.”

I took it, pondered over another drink, then pushed in the stopper. Tomorrow would be a bad day to be hung over. 

“You know Mr. Mayor,” I said, finally feeling the exhaustion seep into my bones, “You’re not what I expected.”

He turned on the couch, kicking his feet up on the arm and pulling his hat down over his eyes, arms tucked behind his head.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said, “And you can call me Hancock.”

“In your dreams,” I whispered, half lost in sleep.

The last thing I heard before drifting off was his throaty laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the end of chapter 3 and thank you so much for reading!
> 
> I haven't decided yet whether or not I'm going to do the whole Bobby No-Nose quest, but Hancock struck me as the kind of guy that would go after anyone who busted chops in Goodneighbor the way Sinjin did when he kidnapped Kent. I mean, he stabbed Finn just for being sassy, right?
> 
> I'm writing this in a rather stream of conscious style, so I apologize for any errors on my part. Again, constructive criticism welcome. Thank you!
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed the story so far, stay tuned to the next installment.


	4. The Parts We Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire and Mayor Hancock brave Milton General Hospital to save Kent from Sinjin's wrath. Afterwards, she considers the many faces of camaraderie in the wastelands.

The next morning was rushed and silent. We packed up our things, ate a light breakfast, and snuck towards the hospital. I hadn’t seen any traps or guards outside, but that only heightened my concern. They were waiting for us inside, sure enough, and our path to Kent, and by proxy, Sinjin, was going to be a rough one. 

The hospital interior proved to be a maze, fraught with blocked corridors, drop downs, and, of course, littered with raiders. The silence was palpable, like a metallic taste on my tongue, with only the distant echoes of mumbled ravings and light footsteps to break the eerie quiet between my shots. The lighting was poor, almost pitch dark in places, so that the occasional lamp light became less a comfort and more a lure, drawing us in towards an inevitable cluster of armed guards. I took them out with cool precision, peeking around corners and through holes to kill off the majority before they saw us coming. Each muffled whump from my silencer made me wince, and not just from the kick, which was growing increasingly painful as the stock drove a widening bruise along my collar bone and shoulder. Much worse was the noise, subtle as it was, clattering through the hallways like a stone down an ancient well. I didn’t want to give Sinjin any warning. If we got the drop on him, there was a good chance this could be over before he got a chance to retaliate.

As I picked off a couple turrets and the raider accompanying them, I heard the Mayor mutter something under his breath as he sat crouched behind me.

“You weren’t kidding,” he said, “You got a way with guns.”

I tutted and pretended I didn’t hear, but the compliment boosted my confidence. We’d get Kent out safe if it was the last thing I did. Unfortunately, with confidence tends to come cockiness, and I took an unwise step into the corridor before checking that there was no one in the rooms to either side. A raider rushed me from the left, battering my arm with an over handed swing of their tire iron. 

“That’ll teach you, you little bitch,” they hissed, readying another swing.

In a second, the Mayor was on them, bashing in their face with a few solid strikes of his shotgun’s stock. They crumpled to the ground like wet tissue paper, letting loose a thin moan before going silent.

“You alright there, sister?”

I nodded. The arm was bruised, sure enough from the pain blossoming along it, but not broken.

“Thanks. How about you?” I asked.

He popped a mentat and flashed a vibrant grin. 

“Feelin’ fine,” he said, “Been cooped up on that office for way too long. It’s got me rusty.”

“Coulda fooled me,” I said, rubbing my sore shoulder, “You got spunk Mayor, I’ll give you that.”  


“I got jokes too,” he purred, “Ever here the one about-”

He was interrupted by the sound of steps up ahead. We both dropped into the shadows, voices falling into whispers, and continued our onslaught. 

We finished off a final swathe of raiders and came to an elevator. My gut told me that Sinjin would be at the end of wherever it took us, and I wracked my brain for an appropriate plan. The elevator opened with a ding and we stepped inside. If we surprised him it would be easy on us, sure, but chances were he was ready and waiting, despite our best attempts at stealth. So what then? I could try to talk him down, but the voice I’d heard on the broadcast didn’t seem the type to bend to rationalist discussions. I figured I’d have to wait and see, and hope to hell I could craft something viable on the fly. 

When the doors opened again, my heart sank like a stone. Sinjin stood poised over Kent, bloodied and tied at his feet, and surrounded by a final vanguard of raiders. My jaw tightened at the sight, hands gripping my gun until it hurt, with the Mayor reacting much the same. I steadied my temper and tried to think, going in guns blazing was only liable to get Kent killed. 

“Come on out Shroud,” said Sinjin, pushing the muzzle of his gun against Kent’s skull, “Or we get to see what’s inside Kent’s head.”

Air whistled between my teeth as I sucked in a ragged breath. I was cornered and I knew it. There was no choice but to play his game. I stepped out from the elevator, shoulder’s squared, gun lowered, but ready to pop to attention at a moments notice. The Mayor held back, ready to jump in when the need arose. I took a good look at the raiders to Sinjin’s side. They shuffled from foot to foot, weapons trembling. They were nervous. That was something worth capitalizing on.

“You shield yourself behind an innocent,” I said, voice booming, “You are craven Sinjin. And you shall fall before me.”

“Don’t talk to me like that,” he spat, “These loser’s think you’re some kinda legend. Like you walked straight out of a comic book. But you and I know, you’re human. And you’re weak. You came here, and for what? You’re little sidekick?”

My trigger finger itched, but I held fast.

“I have cut a path through all your thugs. Who can truly say I’m not the Shroud!”

The raider’s at his side passed around anxious glances. A few even backed away. It seemed crazy, but the bluff was working. The effect wasn’t lost on Sinjin.

“Don’t listen to her men, she’s a phoney,” he said, “So what’s gonna happen is this. I’m going to kill Kent. Then we’re going to shoot the hell out of you. Nothing’s going to be left but paste.” His voice rose, fevered, almost desperate. “Then I’m going to Goodneighbor and kill every last worthless bastard there. Burn the whole thing to the ground. No one screws with Sinjin.”

“I am the instrument of justice!” I struck my best pose yet, gesturing with a wide sweep of my hand towards the raiders. “Death has come for you evildoers, and I am its Shroud!”

“Don’t talk to me like that!” Growled Sinjin, but the damage was done.

“It really is the Shroud!” Said one raider.

“Sinjin can’t stop us if he’s dead!” Said another.

And just like that, his whole contingency bailed. Behind me I heard the Mayors steady footsteps. The man knew how to time his own dramatic entrance.

“Listen close,” said Hancock, “It’s the last thing you’re gonna hear.”

Sinjin’s eye’s opened wide in panic and that was all the distraction I needed. I whipped my rifle to my shoulder and fired off a single shot. It tore through Sinjin like butter, sending him tumbling backwards to the floor, the top of his head a bleeding cavern. I didn’t give myself time to celebrate, dashing to Kent’s side and undoing his bindings. 

“Kent, Kent! Are you alright,” I asked, gripping both of his shoulders despite the loud complaints of my pip boy.

“I never been so happy to see anyone in my entire life,” he wheezed, weight falling forward into my arms. I hugged him close, trying to comfort the shudder of his body.

“I’m just glad I got here in time,” I said, smoothing his hair with one hand, “Think you can make it back to Goodneighbor?”

“I dunno, Shroud,” he said, “Take a look at my knee.”

I pulled back and looked down. There was a hole in one pant leg, blood caked from the knee to his ankle. It was an ugly wound. I dug through my rucksack and found a stimpak. He whimpered as I injected it, but I hoped it would help the healing process along.

“How’s that,” I said, “Want some Med-X?”

He shook his head and I pulled his arm around my shoulder to help him up. The Mayor took his other arm and between the two of us we got him back to the elevator. 

“M-Mayor Hancock!” Kent said, surprised, “What are you doin here?”

“Takin care of my own, pal,” he said, “Think I'd just leave you to the wolves?”

“Oh…oh gosh,” he mumbled, misty eyed, “Thank you so much, sir.”

He fell silent for the remainder of our trip outside, beyond the occasional grunts of pain as we jostled him though the hospital. Once we were free and clear we settled him against a blown out wall, offering purified water and whatever food we had left. He took them readily, scarfing down everything we gave him with ravenous hunger. In the light I could see his injuries much better and the sight filled me with noxious rage. I clenched my fist at my side, holding back the growing storm in my chest, when a sudden, wracking cough sent me tumbling away from my companions. They both looked my way, concern written across their faces, but I waved them off, darting around a corner to finish off the fit. I expunged the hunk of blood and phlegm and ran my fingers through my hair. A few chunks came free, fluttering to the ground. I pretended not to see.

With the fit over I steadied myself and thought over how the hell we were getting Kent back to Goodneighbor. It wasn’t far, but with his leg it might as well have been on the other side of the country. He need Doctor Amari, not just a measly stimpak. I only had one good option. With a grumbling swear I pulled a flare gun from my bag and fired, the ball of light hovering in the sky above our heads. So much for my fucking anonymity. My return to the Mayor and Kent was met with curious stares.

“I’ve got help coming,” I said, gesturing to the flare. 

“What sorta help?” Asked the Mayor, giving me a sly glance. 

“There’s Minutemen settlements pretty close to here,” I said, pushing my back against the wall and sliding down beside Kent, who’d fallen fast asleep following his meal, “They’ll send a squad to answer the flare and help us get him home.”

“Nice perks,” the Mayor said, lighting up a smoke, “They give one of those to all the…uh…scouts?”

He offered me one and I took it gladly, lighting it and puffing away with gusto.

“Of course,” I lied, “It’s standard issue.”

I could tell he didn’t believe me, but he didn’t push the question. Before long, I spotted an armed group hustling over the horizon and towards the flare. I rose to greet them, running ahead to catch them before they could reach the two ghouls.

“Hold up,” I said.

They raised their weapons, and I both cursed and praised my disguise. They didn’t recognize me.

“Where’d you get a Minutemen flare gun, scavver?” One questioned, a broad shouldered woman in heavy combat armor. 

I recognized her as Captain Amelia from Jamaica Plain and saluted. She gave me a ponderous look and raised her hand. The men behind her lowered their laser muskets, equally confused.

“There’s wounded up ahead, Captain,” I said, “General Claire requesting escort to Goodneighbor.”

Her eyes narrowed, then widened in surprise as she caught sight of my rifle. Clothing be damned, if the people of Goodneighbor knew anything about me that gun would have been a dead giveaway. It had a hefty caliber and kicked like a mule, but it was pretty to look at too; well oiled, blue steel shimmering through the grime, big night vision scope, polished maple stock. The works. A few people had even tried, and failed, to kill me for it, and it had become as much a symbol of The General as the duds or the sword. When you fucked with the Minutemen, odds were good it was this gun that took you down. She saluted when the information had processed and the men behind her followed suit. 

“Excuse my rudeness, General,” said the Captain, “I didn’t recognize you.”

I lowered my hand and encouraged them to do the same.

“That’s the point,” I said, “I’m undercover, so I’d appreciate if you didn’t mention it while in the company of my friends here. Its very important.”

She nodded her understanding and followed me forward.

With their assistance it proved an easy walk back to town, Kent carried along on a rough stretcher. The Mayor had remained uncharacteristically silent throughout the trip, eyeing the Minutemen with curiosity and giving me the odd glance or two. 

Inside Goodneighbor, we were the spectacle of the town, everyone crowding around to see what the fuss was all about. Several of my men looked nervous, rightly so considering Goodneighbor’s reputation, but to my admiration held themselves with solemn distinction as they drug Kent onward to the Memory Den. Afterwards, their mission complete, they gave a brisk salute and I thanked them graciously. 

“Our pleasure, Gen…uh, ma’am,” Said Captain Amelia.

I nodded and she turned smartly on her heel, leading her squad back into the wastes. 

Kent was rushed into the basement of the Memory Den, Doctor Amari pushing out the rest of us so she could look him over in peace. I started for the Hotel Rexford, ready for a rest. I’d give it a day or so, then come back to check on Kent. He’d been though a lot, far more than he’d expected when he started this, and I wanted to make sure he was doing alright. After that I figured it was time to give up on my vacation, if you could call it that, and head back to The Castle. If anything, this little outing was proof that I didn’t have time for such crap anyways. There would always be more to do.

I caught sight of the Mayor as I went, surrounded by admirers clamoring to hear what had happened. I heard him laugh, arms gesturing for a quiet that just wouldn’t come as their voices overrode him. Eventually he gave up, tipping back his hat and flashing a toothy grin, and invited everyone to hear the story over drinks, on the house, down at The Third Rail. His eyes caught mine from across the crowd and he beckoned me to follow. I shook my head, gestured towards the Rexford with a jerk of my thumb, and gave an apologetic shrug. I thought I saw his smile wane, but before I could decide for sure he was gone, swept off in a tide of accolades. His people really loved him, and if his behavior over Kent was any indication, he loved them too. Another day, another notch to the list of things I had misjudged, and I thought there might be something to ‘of the people, for the people’ after all. 

That night I thought about the Brotherhood and their take on camaraderie. I hadn’t joined them out of admiration, Preston had made his opinion’s about them well known from our first chance encounter at Cambridge Police Station, and that had been the first of them I’d heard. All I knew or cared to know was that they were players on this stage the same as us and whether they were friend or foe had yet to be determined. The Minutemen were young, yet to retake The Castle; an alliance with the BOS could mean the difference between success and failure. I was determined to succeed.

We’d overheard their distress broadcast on our way back to Sanctuary from our latest settlement mission and came to help, hurried on by the sound of frantic gunfire. It went well initially, the feral ghouls accosting the station falling to my rifle, a crappy .22 that liked to buck away after every shot, or vaporizing at the behest of Preston’s musket. Afterwards, the encounter had quickly turned south. In the fray I hadn’t gotten a good look at the battered group pinned against the station’s door or the armored titan defending them, but when I turned to greet him I found myself transfixed. It was like staring into the face of a ghost. This man was almost the spitting image of my late husband, Nate. He had the same square jaw and dark beard, the same heavy brow and focused stare. 

“We appreciate the assistance, civilian, but what’s your business here?” Asked the man that could have been my husband.

I was a loss for words, and it was Preston who intercepted his thanks on my behalf.

“We heard your distress call,” said Preston, “Thought you could use some help.”

He considered the reply, giving our clothes a questioning look.

“Are you from a local settlement?”

“Sanctuary. We’re with the Minutemen.”

“I’ve seen the location on our maps, but I’ve never visited the area myself,” he said, “I thought the Minutemen were disbanded.”

“They were, but we’re making a comeback,” said Preston, unable to hide a hint of pride, “I’m Preston Garvey and this,” he gestured to me, “Is General Claire.” His face turned serious. “Now, who are you guys? And what are you doing here?”

Preston gave me a worried glance, but my face was stone, unblinking eyes hidden behind the veneer of my shaded glasses. This couldn’t be real.

“I’m Paladin Danse of the Brotherhood of Steel,” he said, brow’s lifting, eye’s gaining some degree of warmth, “If I appear suspicious, it’s because our mission here has been difficult. Since the moment we arrived in the Commonwealth, we’ve been constantly under fire.” He paused, thinking something over, then added, “If you want to continue pitching in, we could use an extra gun at our side.”

Preston’s nose wrinkled at the suggestion and he started to reply, but I burst out an answer before he could finish.

“We’d be happy to help,” I said, voice sounding higher and thinner than I’d have liked. Being the General had been new at the time, and I had a while to go before i’d master the role.

Danse regarded me with diligence before a tender smile graced his lips. It wrinkled the corner of his eyes. They were the rich brown of fresh tilled earth. I almost lost myself right then and there because they were Nate’s, and he was Nate, and all the wasteland fell away like shattered glass. This was all just some terrible dream and here was proof, my husband, my best friend, my partner, alive and well, as handsome as they day we met, and certainly not beneath the earth that resembled his eyes, buried in a shallow grave in what had once been our backyard like a family pet, a bullet in his head and his wedding ring on the chain around my neck. Certainly not. Definitely not. He was right here and he was fine. We were going to be fine. Everything was fine.

Danse turned away and said something, but I didn’t hear. The spell was broken and the grave inside my heart was open, feelings crawling from the tomb like night of the living dead. My vision swam, and if weren’t for Preston catching my shoulders in the sweep of his arm I think I’d have hit the ground. He held me steady, gave me a reassuring squeeze, a look that said, ‘well talk about his later’, and helped me get my wobbling legs to walk. Man, fate sure knew how to kick you when you were down. 

Later, after Preston and I had helped him recover some tech from a place called ArcJet Systems, he’d offered me a chance to join the Brotherhood of Steel. I told him I’d think about it, eliciting a panicked glance from Preston, and for the moment Danse and I went our separate ways. 

An uncomfortable silence settled over us as we trekked back towards Sanctuary. Finally, Preston piped up, unable to take the tension growing between us.

“What the hell was that about?” He asked, voice accusatory. “You can’t seriously be thinking about joining up with them?”

“Maybe I am,” I spat back, turning away to hide the quiver in my lip. I was feeling raw, volatile; hurting for a chance to kick out some vitriol if only to ease the churning of my stomach. “What about it?”

He jogged in front of me and tried to stop my furious pace, but I shouldered past. He tried to grab my arm but I whipped it away, glaring needles. Something in my face must have resonated. His eyes lost their angry glint, brows unfurrowing into a look of soft concern.

“Are you ok, General?” 

I gripped the straps of my rifle until the pattern was imprinted to my palms, teeth grinding so tightly my jaw began to ache. I tried to tell him I was fine, but the words didn’t come. I realized I was crying, and with that trumpeted realization the walls of Jericho came crashing down. I tore off my glasses, crushed my fists into my eyes and tried to staunch the flow. This was so stupid. I was stupid. How could I ever expect to be the General of anybody when I couldn’t even police my own emotions. I told myself to stuff it down, re-inter my prewar corpses and move on, but that didn’t stop the trembling of my shoulders or the hot tears coursing down.

Preston froze, awkward and unsure, before enveloping me in a tight embrace, the smell of leather and oil and dust helping me ground myself into the present. 

“He looked like Nate,” I choked out between sobs, “Just like Nate.”

His eyes widened with understanding.

“I’m sorry, I…I didn’t know,” he said.

He let me cry until the tears dried up and the sobs abated. I rinsed my face and took a rad-x, returned my sunglasses to their rightful place, and steadied my nerves for Sanctuary. It was bad enough I’d let slip in front of Preston, there was no way I’d let the settlers back home see me like this. 

That evening, once we’d returned to Sanctuary, I went to Preston’s home after dinner and asked to be let inside. He obliged, offering me a seat at the couch and taking his own across from me. 

“I wanted to talk to you. About earlier,” I said, voice steady, “I hope that you won’t think less of me for it.”

“Of course not, General,” he said with earnest, “Everyone’s lost somebody they care about out here.” He dropped his eyes, fingers tangled in his lap. “I guess you know I’m one of the last of the Minutemen, but I never really told you what happened to us.”

I shook my head. 

“I figured you’d tell me when you were ready.”

He took a deep breath and continued.

“It was the day the Minutemen betrayed each other, and the people they were supposed to protect. I was with Colonel Hollis’s group. A mercenary group called the Gunners was attacking Quincy; the people there called the Minutemen for help.” He looked up at me, shoulders hunched, the amber of his eyes glittering with specks of gold. “We were the only one’s that came. The other groups…they just turned their backs. On us, and the folks in Quincy. Only a few of us got out alive. Colonel Hollis was dead. So I ended up in charge of the survivors. We never found another place to settle, just one disaster after another…you saw how it ended, in Concord.”

“Preston, I…” I thought over what to say, but I knew firsthand that word’s often did little to heal wounds of the soul. “I’m sorry, for Quincy…and for earlier. I didn’t mean to lash out at you.”

“It’s alright, General,” he said, pressing his finger and thumb to his eyes, a sly attempt to wipe away burgeoning tears. 

“No.” My voice hardened. “It’s not alright. None of this is alright. I’m gonna make a promise to you Preston. You and the Minutemen are my number one.”

“What about your-”

I cut him off immediately, but couldn’t quite avoid the sting. It didn’t matter anymore. He was gone, long gone. 

“I’m not the only one out here suffering,” I said, “Far from it. And I won’t stop until the people can live their lives free from fear.” I stood and offered him my hand. “What do you say Preston? United we stand?”

He smiled, sweet and sorrowful intertwined, before rising to meet me head on, his hand clasping my forearm and mine clasping his. 

“You got it, General.”

After that we’d made the decision together. I would be joining the Brotherhood of Steel. They could call me whatever they wanted there, initiate, knight, whatever, but first and foremost I was The General, and I wasn’t there to stroke their egos or play into their dogma. I was there to make one decision. Friend or foe?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one down! Thank you for reading! Went a little dark here, but hey, I couldn't help it. It's no secret that unmodified Nate looks a helluva lot like Danse at first glance, it's in a lot of fanfics for a good reason. I'd imagine that would really fuck with a person. 
> 
> Also, more Preston! :3 He's a sweet bean and I was totally smitten with his good natured heart from my first playthrough, annoying radiant quests aside later on. 
> 
> Where to go from here? Its a little challenging weaving in pieces of backstory with an ongoing narrative, but I'm doing my best. Feel free to let me know how I'm doing. Thanks again!


	5. Pickman's Gallery and other Weird Tales

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After checking up on Kent, Claire is given another job by Mayor Hancock. She muses over her time with Nick Valentine and follows up on joining the BOS.

After a few restless days at the Hotel Rexford I made good on my decision to visit Kent. I knocked tentatively on his door in the memory den, hopeful that he’d recovered enough to move to his room. He answered from the other side and I opened the door. His eyes flitted between me and a figure to the side, Mayor Hancock. I gave Kent a soft smile and the Mayor a polite nod, coming in and shutting the door behind me.

“How you doing, Kent?” I asked.

“Terrible,” he said, sinking into his chair, “I just give up. On all of it. Crime-fighting just isn’t what I thought it’d be.”

“After all this,” I said, lowering my voice, “You’re just giving up. Then the bad guys have already won.”

“I…I guess, but I’m tired, and I just need time to recover, you know?”

“Aw, Kent my man,” said the Mayor, “Why the long face? You got what you wanted.”

“I was t-tortured,” said Kent, falling into himself, eyes to the floor, “I almost died. It’s not like the radio plays at all.”

“Hey, who hasn’t been tortured from time to time? The price for throwing down with the Man is always a few scars,” said the Mayor.

I threw him a nasty look and his tone softened.

“Pick yourself up. Goodneighbor’s just a bit safer thanks to the two of you.”

“What would the Shroud be without his faithful friend Rhett Reinhart,” I added, trying to lighten the mood.

It seemed to work, Kent giving me a thin smile.

“This…This means a lot to me,” he paused, then added, “I’m going to need some time. But I’ll be ok. Thanks to you.”

I gave him a soft smile and followed the Mayor out. I figured that was that and I’d be on my way, but he stopped me. 

“You mind comin by my office? I got a few questions for you.” Then, with a sly smile added, “And not the Shroud, ya dig? I wanna talk to Claire.”

I tutted and gave him a nod. I hadn’t put the costume on that morning, figuring my exploits as the Shroud were done with, instead donning my gunner garb and combat armor. The costume was safe in my bag, along with all my other odds and ends, as I figured I’d be leaving Goodneighbor right after checking up on Kent. Apparently, like everything else since I’d left The Castle, things weren’t going according to plan. 

In his office, the Mayor offered me a seat on his couch. I obliged, ignoring the waft of dust it coughed up, the particles drifting lazy spirals in what little light filtered through his drawn curtains. The room smelled of liquor and Jet, so strong it jittered on my tongue. I kept a stoic face, despite the sour smells. I wasn’t the Mayors friend by any stretch of the imagination, but I’d come to respect him, and if there was any chance at all of getting Goodneighbor shacked up with the Minutemen I needed to put on my big girl pants and power through. 

He plopped down across from me and popped a mentat, then offered me the tin. This time I accepted, letting the chalky tablet melt under my tongue. It covered the taste of the air quite nicely and left me feeling sharp and alert. I could see why he liked these. He had good taste, in outfits and in chems.

“So what’s your ailment, pal?” I asked, crossing my legs and resting my chin in the palm of my hand. “Anything I can do for the good Mayor?”

“Now that I know what you’re,” he clicked his tongue, “capable of, I think I just might.”

“Oh yeah.” I leaned forward, a little huskiness in my voice to match my wily smile. “Well let’s here it.”

“Claire, I like your style,” he said, obsidian eyes twinkling, “I got reconnaissance needs. There’s a lot of weird talk coming in about a place called The Pickman Gallery. It’s raider territory up there but they’ve been quiet. Like uncomfortable post-coitus quiet. Just snoop it out, and give me the word.”

I chuckled. After Sinjin this was a helluva break.

“That all you got for me?” 

“Why? Something else you’re looking for?” 

He bared his teeth in a charming smile. Man, this guy. Almost unconsciously my eyes trailed over the V of his ruffled shirt to his exposed chest and the curve of his neck. He had a lot going for him, this much was true, the charm, the duds, the one liners, but I reigned myself in and focused back to his eyes. It never did any good fraternizing with business associates, only served to muddy the water, and right now I didn’t have any room for mistakes. 

“I think this’ll do…for now,” I said, rising from the couch, “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“I hope so,” he said, “I hate waiting.”

“The best things are worth waiting for,” I cooed over my shoulder as I took my leave.

He laughed, a low rumble in his chest, and I could just hear his reply. 

“You’re gonna be the death of me.”

His words followed me well beyond the walls of Goodneighbor as I walked north to Pickman Gallery.

“I sure hope not, Mayor,” I thought, “I sure hope not.”

From the outside the gallery seemed rather unassuming, a few raiders hanging around and little else. I picked them off from around the corner, the first going down like a sack of tatos, the others panicking and looking every which way for me, making easy targets of themselves. Fucking raiders. It never got old. 

From there I snuck inside, keeping low and to the shadows. Right away I caught sight of a pair ahead of me, their backs turned. I raised my rifle, but held back, listening in on their conversation. It seemed they were looking for this Pickman character and they were right upset with him. I shot one, then the other quicker than they could turn around, and reloaded my rifle. With any luck I’d get a chance to talk to the guy they were looking for. Any enemy of raiders would always be a friend of mine. That thought persisted even after I stepped to the left and into the…gallery. 

The smell of it hit me like a truck, the sickly sweet cloying smell of rotting corpses. They were piled high in the center of the room, decorated with all sorts of accoutrements, decapitated heads on spikes staring at me with their clouded, empty eyes. Man, what a sight. If I’d have wandered in here fresh out the vault I think it would have dropped me, but by now I’d grown calloused to the stench of death and the weird proclivities of this post-atomic society. By the looks of it all the corpses were raiders, judging by their clothes, so it was no skin off my nose, really. More often such displays of gruesome savagery were painted with the blood of my settlers, and by God was that a different ball game entirely. 

Speaking of paintings, that was something I’d never seen before. They were mounted on the wall around the corpse pile; haunting images in yellow, black, and red done in a surrealist style, hollow, eyeless faces, floating fingers, winged figures. I touched one and my finger came back dusted rust red and stinking of metal. These things were literally painted with the blood of raiders. I wiped my hand on my jeans and stifled a gag. Nasty work to be sure, but not exactly difficult to look at if you didn’t mind the smell. They reminded me of my old horror flicks. If they’d have existed pre-war, and painted with you know, paint, I’d have probably snagged one for myself. 

A noise upstairs drew me away from the side meal and I remembered the main course. There were still raiders in here, and now I had a pretty good idea why they were after this Pickman guy. How’s it feel to be on the other side of things assholes?

I returned to the main foyer and crept up the stairs, one painstaking step at a time; the wood was creaky as all hell and I was not about to be rushed in close quarters by a bunch of angry raiders. I spotted one over the top of the banister and, after a peek around to make sure no one else was looking, gave him a shot. He dropped with a loud thud, which attracted his friends to the scene. Afterwards it was just a repeat of outside. One, two, three raiders down, thank you and good night. As I traversed the floor I found more bodies, beyond the ones I’d made that is, chained to beds and in varying stages of mutilation and decay, all raiders, and each with a peculiar calling card consisting of a heart, draw in blood, of course, what else, and a taunt reading: Pickman was here, find me if you dare. What a guy. 

Up another flight of stairs and a few more raiders down I found a sizeable crack in the wall. Looking through, it seemed to lead somewhere under the house so I decided the drop down. I found myself in a maze of tunnels interconnected with the sewers, a clever escape system if I’d ever seen one, and I continued along at a careful pace, catching a few raiders by surprise in the first chamber. 

A painting caught my eye, a recent one judging by its tacky surface and the cans of blood around it. It featured a chorus of long, grasping fingers rising from a fiery hellscape below, reaching towards the all seeing eye. I rather liked it, even more than the others, and wondered idly if he would take caps for it if I found him alive, not that I had anywhere to put it. I shuddered to think what Preston would have to say about it hanging in my quarters at The Castle, and, disappointedly, moved on. 

The deeper tunnels were misty and poorly lit, the short visibility making me nervous, the echoing of voices making it difficult to pinpoint exactly where anyone was. As I crept along I found myself jumping at shapes and shadows in the coiling mist, afraid to pull the trigger lest I give away my position in the dark. To top it all off I found myself constantly avoiding mines and navigating through disgusting trash water. Once again, a simple mission was turning dubious and I juggled with the idea of turning back and reporting what I’d found so far, but by now I was enthralled with this Pickman character and I just had to meet the guy, circumstances be damned. 

After crossing a questionable bridge of old piping, the metal rusted and creaking as if it could give way at any moment, I found myself in a wider antechamber. Ahead I could just make out a turret in the mist and the shuffling of footsteps. I crouched against the wall and fired at the turret, disabling it with a loud boom that echoed alarmingly throughout the tunnels. Two raiders lept into sight at the devastation, guns held high and spinning wildly in search of me. I took them down with a pair of clean shots to the head and reloaded. 

I wound through a final series of passages towards the low sound of voices not too far ahead. I was atop some sort of ledge overlooking a much larger room below where I could see a group of raiders surrounding what I assumed to be Pickman, a clean cut looking guy in a suit sporting a well groomed pony tail. 

“Finally got you Pickman,” said one of the raiders, the leader by the looks of it, “Thought you could hunt and torture our people to your heart’s content…I’m gonna enjoy killing you.”

I lined him up in my scope and let fire, carving a nice hole through the side of his skull. His two goonies whipped around just in time to catch a shot head on, first one then the other dropping to the ground beside their boss. I eyed Pickman through my scope, jumping down to greet him only after I’d confirmed him to be unarmed. To my surprise he greeted me with a casual wave, a thin smile gracing his otherwise dead pan features.

“That was close, thank you,” he said, his voice not unlike his face, flat and emotionless, “Those people deserve worse than death.”

“Can’t argue that, pal,” I said, sounding less nervous than I was. Here I wanted to meet the guy, but now that I had I wasn’t so sure about him. Something was off. I kept him finger poised across the trigger of my rifle, just in case. 

“Let me repay you,” he said, creeping closer.

“You don’t owe me anything.” I held my ground, watching him approach with caution. “I’d have done it either way. I don’t take kindly to raiders.”

“That’s all the more reason to reward you.” He was very close now, only a foot away, eyes unblinking and staring through me, his smile poised like a crack across his face, not reaching his eyes. A doll’s smile.

“You know what,” I said, “If you insist on a reward there’s is something of yours I’d like.”

“Oh?” He tilted his head to the side, a lock of his auburn hair drifting across his eyes as they narrowed in consideration. “And what might that be?”

“That painting you did.” I pointed towards the tunnels. “Back there. The one downstairs. You think you could part with it?”

His eyes lit up, going wide and glinting like sunlight off a knife blade. Finally, some semblance of emotion from the guy. 

“You like it?” He said. “It’s my latest. I call it The Eye of Abaddon.”

“Oh yeah,” I agreed, “Real good stuff. Anybody who can take trash like raiders and turn them into something worth lookin at is a friend in my book.” I took a chance and extended my hand. He took it and pumped it up and down, releasing after three mechanical shakes. “My name’s Claire, I’ve only just met you but I guess you could call me a fan of your work.” 

“I’ve never had a fan before,” he said, voice like honey, “I suppose I’ll have to acquiesce, though it’s not quite finished. Where can I bring it once its done?”

“Goodneighbor,” I blurted. Rather there than to The Castle anyways. “Take it to the Statehouse.”

“You’ve got a deal, killer.” He gave me a final once over, dissecting me with those cold, grey eyes, before disappearing into the mist. 

I finally exhaled the breath I had been holding and let up on the trigger of my rifle. For better or for worse I’d earned his trust and that was certainly something. Before my brief stent in Goodneighbor I’d have shot the guy alongside the raiders, but I’d learned a thing or two since then. It pays to have all sorts on your side, not just the people you agree with. I thought I’d learned that with the Brotherhood, but now I realized there was another end to the extremes. 

I’d never forget the first time I saw the Prydwen, roaring across the skies like a veritable elder god from parts unknowable, loudspeakers declaring the age old adage of ‘be not afraid’, though in less poetic, more forceful terms. 

Nick Valentine and I had just emerged, bloodied but victorious, from the lair of my husband’s killer, Kellogg. We both stared with wide eyes, myself in awe and Nick with an emotion more akin to dread.

“Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering…fearing,” he muttered, shaking his head and pressing a cigarette to his lips. 

“Never took you for a fan of Poe,” I said, a half attempt at joviality. 

He wasn’t amused, his yellow eyes flickering over me with concern. 

“Be careful dealing with the Brotherhood, kid,” he said, “They’re not the kind to play nice with people who don’t see things their way.”

“What exactly is ‘their way’?” I asked, shielding my eyes against the sun and watching the massive airship roll across the horizon. 

Valentine huffed and lit his cigarette, gears whirring.

“They don’t take kindly to folks like me, that’s for sure. All the resources they got, they could do a lot of good, but they’re more interested in wiping out anybody who don’t agree with them. Ghouls, synths, supermutants. They’re all the same to the Brotherhood.”

He watched me intently, hands in the pockets of his detectives overcoat, gauging my reaction. That guy never turned off, and that’s not just because he was a synth. Nick was the smartest person in the Commonwealth as far as I was concerned, a real stand up relic from the old days with a moral compass fixed on lawful good. He was a great man and a better friend, and if he was against the BOS that threw a real wrench in my plans. 

From there we’d gone to the Memory Den, I’d enjoyed my first visit to Goodneighbor, and had the pleasure of picking through Kellogg’s brains, which included watching my husband die through his eyes. (A real good time for sure, drinks all around.) To top it all off I’d discovered that the next step of my journey, if I wanted into the Institute that is, would be the Glowing Sea, a near impassible field of life threatening radiation. 

I’d walked up the stairs from Doctor Amari’s lab into the Memory Den, feeling heavy and exhausted, desperately needing a drink and a distraction. Nick was waiting for me on a couch. I perked up at the sight. This had been a difficult road, I’d often felt it impossible, but with friends like Nick and Preston I felt I could endure. 

Nick looked up at me, but his face seemed distant, almost alien, and the voice that came out was not his own.

“Hope you got what you were looking for inside my dead.” The voice of Kellogg. “Heh. I was right. Should’ve killed you when you were on ice.”

“What the absolute fuck!” Came my, less than perfect, reply.

My heart jumped into my throat and I tried and failed to process what was happening. My head was full of static, between the exhaustion and the stress, and I was struck dumb and staring. This was a nightmare. This whole goddamned Commonwealth was a fucking horror show and I was running out of patience for it.

Nick shook his head and stared right back, but the shadow across his face was gone and he looked like good old Nick again.

“What?” He asked, confused. “What are you talking about?”

I steadied my breath and tried to relax, realizing that my finger was firmly planted to the trigger of my rifle and I was a couple pounds of pressure and thirty degrees south from planting a bullet into my good pal’s chest. I felt like I was unraveling at the seams. Thing’s were spiraling out of control and there was only so much weirdness I could take.

“I’m Sorry…I…You sounded like Kellogg just now,” I said.

“Amari said there might be some crossed wires,” he said, trying to make sense of it, “But I feel fine now, so don’t worry about it.”

I felt those graves creeping open, undead fingers poking through my calm facade like tissue. My heart rate quickened, breath coming in erratic bursts, my knees lost all connection to my brain and started floundering. I slumped onto the couch beside him and held my head in my hands, trying to force back the inevitable tide. 

“You alright kid,” asked Nick, squeezing my shoulder.

I took one long, deep breath, then exhaled. The panic began to subside. The fingers retracted. The tombs slid closed. I never forgot that meltdown with Preston and I was determined not to let it happen again, not in front of Nick or anybody.

“Yeah I’m fine,” I croaked, “Just need…a distraction I think.” I gave Nick a half assed smile. “Got any cases open?”

He considered my question carefully before replying.

“Yeah, actually, got a real doozy if you’re interested.”

“Lay it on me.” I’d take it. I’d take anything at all.

“Let me tell you about Eddie Winter…”

We spent the next few weeks collecting tapes to find this prewar gangster Nick was after. He’d turned himself ghoul and was hiding in some pin coded bunker. I was glad for it. Happy to help, especially after all the help Nick had given me. When we finally found the guy and Nick got his vengeance we parted ways. I told him something about Minutemen duties and, for the record, that was only partially a lie. The tapes had been a pleasant distraction, a vacation if you will, but I was never far from the shadow of tomorrow. I needed a way through the Glowing Sea because I needed to get into the Institute, otherwise the Minutemen and everyone we cared for would always be under their thumb. 

In all my time with Nick I’d been wracking my brain for a way to survive the radiation and hadn’t come up with any good solutions. I’d considered taking my power armor at The Castle, the T-45 Sturges and I had fixed up, which would have been fine if I was willing to go it alone, but that seemed tantamount to suicide. If it was just about me I’d have risked it, but this had all blown so far beyond myself that I couldn’t take the idea of leaving and never coming back. What about Preston? What about the Minutemen? They needed me to come back alive so what I needed was a second set of power armor and, unfortunately, it was hovering above Boston Airport. 

I waved goodbye and watched him go, the guilt eating me away inside, but I knew it had to be done. I was The General now, not just in training but fully fledged with The Castle and the uniform to prove it. I was going to make nice with that airship so I could snag a full set of top of the line power armor, run a few missions to make them happy then boogie out into the Glowing Sea. From there I had no idea, but I was sure I’d figure it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter down and thank you so much for reading! 
> 
> I've gotten through most of the backstory now and we're finally getting into the meat of it. I can't wait! Much more Hancock next chapter, probably fluff. In the past I've written a lot of horror or adventure stories that didn't have a lot of romance to them, friendly or family relationships sure but I don't think any of them had a strong romantic subplot. If anything this story is a good chance to practice. I'm trying my best to make it a natural, gradual interest that will develop more as they travel together, but romantic writing is really not my forte so if you have any advice or suggestions i'm happy to hear them!
> 
> Thanks again!


	6. The Worst Sort of Trap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire returns from Pickman's and gives her report to the Mayor over a few drinks, but as the night wears on and the shots pile up things take an odd turn.

I returned through the gates of Goodneighbor as the sun crept out of sight, casting the town into a neon accented twilight. I figured I’d pop in and give the Mayor the news then head to bed. Looking up I could see twinkling lights through the windows of his office and took that as a good enough sign that he was in. 

As I approached the Statehouse I noticed drifters and watchmen alike exchanging furtive whispers and looks in my direction. I silently cursed the rumor mill as a drifter stopped me at the door. He looked pretty rugged, to be polite, clothes torn and hanging off his narrow frame, knitted cap pulled just above a pair of sunken eyes. 

“You’re that gunner lady what saved Kent, right?” He asked, tongue darting across his cracked lips.

I tipped my hat and gave a tepid smile. 

“You got me, pal,” I said, “Suppose the Mayor told you.”

“Told me! He told everybody! You’re a hero, lady.”

My face flushed and I stepped away, eyes plummeting to the ground. I started an answer, but a laugh from a watchmen cut off my train of thought.

“Hero?” He scoffed and crossed the alley towards us. “You got it all wrong. She’s the one that attracted those assholes to us in the first place, runnin around in that stupid get up.”

“Hey, man, I didn’t mean any harm by it.” I held up my hands in defense, eyeing the barrel of his machine gun. He was keeping it pointed down. So far.

“Doesn’t matter what you meant.” His eyes narrowed. “What matters is what you got us. Trouble. What’s an outsider like you doin fuckin around here anyways? Think we couldn’t handle it?”

“You guys weren’t doin jack shit about those thugs,” the drifter piped up, then instantly wilted under the watchman’s furious stare. 

“Watch your tone, scavver,” said the watchman, “Or you’ll be sleepin outside the gate tonight.”

I stepped between them, anger vying to get the better of my pleasant tone.

“Whoa there,” I said, “There’s no need for that.”

He glowered over me. I noticed his finger shifting to rest on the trigger of his machine gun. This was getting dicey.

“There you go again,” he said, voice dropping to a low growl, “Gettin involved in business that don’t concern you. If I was Hancock I’d-”

“Man are my ears burning,” said the Mayor, swaggering out from the Statehouse.

The watchman dropped his finger off the trigger, his face melting from rage into abject fear. 

“H-hey there boss…This ain’t what-”

“Ain’t what it look like?” The Mayor stared the watchman down, black eyes dangerous. “Now I sure hope it ain’t, because what I’m seein is somebody with a gun threatening somebody without one.”

He placed his hand on the watchman’s shoulder, an almost friendly gesture I recognized from my first misadventure into Goodneighbor. His other hand was stuffed into his trouser pocket, gripped around the handle of his switchblade. 

The watchman was sweating bullets now, cowering beneath the Mayor’s penetrating stare but unable to move away. If I didn’t step in I had an idea about where this was going. I reached down and linked my arm with the Mayor’s as casually as I could, staying his stabbing arm for the moment.

“This is just a big misunderstanding,” I quipped, taking over the Mayor’s murderous gaze, “You’re, uh, fella here and I were having a conversation is all.”

The watchman’s eyes flicked back and forth between us, mouth set in a grimace. I couldn’t decide what was better, watching him writhe under Hancock’s reprimand, or the confusing mixture of hatred and gratitude he was pointing at me now. 

“Yeah boss,” he seconded, “Just a conversation.”

“Is that so…” Hancock looked to the drifter. “You got an opinion, pal?”

The drifter wrung his hands and glanced towards me. I nodded for him to play along. 

“Yeah, uh, a conversation, right…” He said.

“Alright then,” said the Mayor. 

He removed his hand from the watchman’s shoulder, who practically collapsed with relief, and rifled around in his coat pocket. He produced an inhaler of jet and a couple caps, passing them off to the drifter. 

“For your trouble,” he said.

The drifter’s eyes turned to liquid saucers as he took the gift, head bobbing with thanks. The Mayor shot one last warning glance towards the watchman and we walked off arm in arm. 

Once we’d cleared their line of sight I slid my arm out of his and adjusted the strap of my rifle across my chest. 

“Aw, and I thought we were just gettin cozy,” he said with a wiggle of brows.

“Sorry. I wasn’t exactly interested in watching you gore somebody right in front of me.”

“Gotta stay tough if you wanna stay on top.” He shrugged. “Excuse me if that upsets your…delicate sensibilities.”

“Ain’t nothin delicate about me, Mayor,” I said, biting my tongue against a more incendiary remark.

“I’ll give you that,” he said, “Speaking of, how about you fill me in on Pickman over a beer?”

I mulled it over. A beer sounded damn good right now. 

“I think I’ll take you up on that offer, but how about I meet you there. That job did a number on me and I imagine I smell like something between a sewage leak and a corpse pile.”

He erupted in a hearty laugh. 

“You got it,” he said, “I’ll be waiting.”

He sauntered off towards The Third Rail and I returned to my room at the Rexford. I stripped off my armor and gunner garb, blanching at the stink of them, and pulled a spare outfit from my bag along with a purified water and a ragged strip of cloth. I wet the cloth and scrubbed the viscera from my face and hair as best I could and changed. The new clothes were nothing special, a pair of faded blue jeans and a gray T-shirt, along with, of course, my glasses and cap. I threw the strap of my rifle over my shoulder and headed out, not exactly looking my best but at least smelling a lot less of where I’d been.

When I arrived at The Third Rail the Mayor was settled at the same couch as before, with Fahrenheit shadowing him from a table in the corner. To my relief she was distracted by a dark haired woman dressed in a red sequin gown; Magnolia, the bar’s resident singer. They were seated together at the table, chatting idly and exchanging half lidded glances. Even in the wastelands, I suppose, love can bloom. 

I slid my rifle off my shoulder, set it within easy reach and took a seat next to the Mayor. He offered me a beer and a mentat. I took both, letting the mentat dissolve before rinsing out the chalky taste. I still hated that the beer was warm, but beggars can’t be choosers, especially when the drinks were free. Around us I noticed another series of whispers and glances directed our way. The paranoia in me felt like the whole damn bar was talking about us, but I calmed my nerves and let it slide. So what if they were? Fuck em. 

“So what’s the deal with Pickman’s gallery?” He asked, slumping into the cushion.

“Let’s just say, his art’s not going to have a lot of resale value once those bodies start decaying.”

“Well, they say all artistic inspiration is ephemeral, am I right?” he said with a dark chuckle, “Wish I could say that was the most twisted thing I’d ever heard of, but it ranks up there…top three…” He finished off his beer. “I’ll put the word out. Tell people to steer clear.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it,” I said, lighting up a smoke, “He’s only interested in raiders. His methods are a little…off, but the intention was good.”

“The road to hell…” He muttered, going silent for a moment before continuing, “So what next,? Still plannin on leaving?”

“Tomorrow. I gotta report in before they start lookin for me.”

The corners of his mouth twinged downwards, almost imperceptible, before he recovered. 

“Then how about we give you a real send off.” He waved Charlie over and ordered another round of beers and a bottle of whiskey. “You missed out the other night. The way I see it it’s only fair.”

We each took a shot of whiskey, savoring the way it hit our stomachs and warmed us from the inside.

“I dunno what you told everyone the hospital,” I said, “But it seems like I got a real love-hate relationship with your constituents now.”

He flashed a sly grin and draped his arm across the back of the couch, his feet propped up atop the table. 

“Shit, I got a real love-hate relationship with my constituents. Take it as a complement.” 

“If you say so, Mayor.”

I settled into my side of the couch. It felt good to relax, and between the booze and the chems I was starting to feel right good with myself.

“What’s it gonna take for you to call me Hancock?” He groaned.

“Fuck if I know. Few more of these maybe.” 

I laughed and offered him another shot. He took it with a wink.

“If I knew that’s all it took I’d been offerin you drinks a lot more often.” 

I rolled my eyes. He sure liked to paint the charm on thick.

We sat and drank awhile, swapping stories, sharing laughs. Magnolia took the stage and sang and if it wasn’t one of the prettiest thing’s I’d heard since I’d thawed out I didn’t know what was. The whole atmosphere was getting to me, the way the smoke looked in the light, the music, the company. I could have pretended I was in some seedy prewar dive bar back home. The scene was pleasant beyond words, and a wave of nostalgia gut punched me so suddenly I nearly cried. I choked back the feeling with another shot, driving it back down into the depths where it belonged. 

We were both about three beers down and twice as many shots, rapidly approaching ‘feelin real good at the expense of my better judgement’ territory. The arm he’d draped across the couch had slipped down, the tips of his fingers brushing against the bare skin of my arm every time he leaned up to put out his smoke or take a drink.  
Each gentle touch felt like a jolt of electricity, crackling up my shoulder into my brain where it buzzed and writhed, demanding to be acknowledged. I puzzled over it, tried to break the feeling down and rationalize it. 

It’s strange to say, especially for someone who just a few days ago didn’t know how to feel about ghouls, but being around him felt, well, natural. Conversation came easy and I wasn’t constantly double checking whether the things I had to say were proper. There were no expectations to fulfill. No image to maintain. I could just be me. Maybe that was all the attraction was when you stripped it down to bare bones, the alluring air of normality in an upside down world. A fella who treated me like just another person instead of a savior or a soldier or a solution to a problem. And that was nice wasn’t it? That was something worth leaning in to.

I cracked another beer and repositioned myself on the couch, sliding closer in a way I hoped was covert. It probably wasn’t.

He coiled his arm around my shoulders, cautiously at first, as if testing the waters, then more securely when I didn’t pull away, the pad of his thumb tracing idle shapes into the soft cotton of my tshirt. Distantly, I could hear the irritated voice of my pip boy, but between the music and the chatter it faded into background noise.

“Why don’t you radio your people in the morning,” said the Mayor, his eyes meeting mine with a softness that caught me off guard. “Tell em what’s what and hang around awhile.”

“Why’d ya say that?” I asked. 

“Well…” He popped another mentat. “You ain’t had a good taste of the Goodneighbor lifestyle yet. Why not hang around a day or two and take in the vibes.”

“I’ve got a pretty good feel for the place, I think.” 

That was what I said, but a big part of me wasn’t against the suggestion. A few days of binge drinking and chems with Mr. Mayor sounded damn good. Amazing even. I could get used to this.

But that was the problem. The longer I stayed the less I wanted to leave. I wasn’t sure exactly when the change had happened, maybe it had been so gradual I couldn’t have noticed, but I’d taken a liking to the place, against all the odds. I liked Kent and Daisy, shit I’d even taken a shine to KL-E-O after enough trips to her for ammo. I liked Fahrenheit’s special brand of affection for the Mayor, Charlie’s gruff bartending, the sweet warble of Magnolia’s voice. The people here were rough around the edges, sure, but they were good people. The town of Goodneighbor had become the worst kind of trap: a comfortable one. I had to escape while I still had the willpower.

“You sure?” He asked, voice a husky whisper, his breath warm across my ear. “I’m not gonna make ya, but I know that there’s a few people around who’d hate to see you go. It ain’t often we meet somebody like you.”

“You speakin for the town or for yourself, Mayor?” I said with a coy smirk. 

“Why not both?”

I could smell the smoke and liquor on his breath, and another, more pleasant scent beneath. Cologne maybe? He was wearing that charismatic grin, lips pulled back to show glittering teeth. Drunk Claire was dying to concede, her eyes flitting across the weathered features of his face, the dark pools of his eyes, so soft and kind in the dim light. Drunk Claire said why not? Why fucking not? Haven’t we done enough? Don’t we deserve a bit of happiness? But Sober Claire took over with a jerk, lurching up and away before things could go any farther. 

“Sorry,” I said, and I meant it.

I snatched up my rifle, threw down a few caps as an afterthought, and stumbled out before he could get a word in edge wise. I made a rough ascent up the stairs, one hand griped to the strap of my rifle like a life preserver at sea, the other sliding along the railing. I made it upstairs without much of an incident, giving the bouncer, Ham, a weak smile as I passed. He nodded in return and I added him to the list of people I liked. 

Outside I realized that I was a lot worse off than I thought and the short distance to the Rexford looked like an eternity. This was all so stupid stupid stupid. My mind jumped to The Castle, teetering on the brink of all out war, and here I was, flirting with some ghoul I barely knew, playing a big game of pretend. I didn’t have time to get caught up in all this, especially didn’t have the luxury of catching feelings, not now and not like this. I took a few wayward steps forward, swaying on my feet and doing my damndest to keep the world aligned when all it wanted to do was spin. My foot caught the street curb and I lost all balance, arms pinwheeling as I tumbled forward. I waited for the inevitable crack of my head against the concrete but it didn’t come. Someone had snagged my flailing arm and hoisted me upwards.

“Can’t let a lady walk home alone in this condition,” said the Mayor. His tone was light but his face looked grim. 

“Preciate it,” I mumbled, wrapping an arm around his.

He got me to my room and I collapsed with a whump into the bed, the ceiling spinning out of control. He turned to leave but I caught the edge of his sleeve. 

“Look, I’m sorry,” I said. 

“Don’t worry bout it.” He pulled away. “Not everybody’s down with the whole ghoul thing. I get it.”

My brain took its sweet time crunching that response. He was almost out the door before I could sputter an answer.

“That ain’t it, man.” 

“You don’t gotta lie to me.” His voice was guttural.

“I ain’t lyin, man, not this time,” I managed, “I don’t give a flying fuck that you’re a ghoul.”

I threw one arm across my eyes to stop the spinning overhead. If I’d have been in my right mind I’d have noticed he was angry, why wouldn’t he be? For all he knew I was lying to him. I’d told enough lies by now the idea was justified, but Drunk Claire didn’t have a clue. She was mostly trying to keep from hurling.

“Oh yeah, so what is it?” He said.

“I havta go back to The Castle. I got…responsibilities.” The words were almost unintelligible, but he caught the jist.

“Real important scouting missions, right?” 

The sarcasm was lost on me.

“Yeah…heh…scouting.”

I was fading fast. If we said anything else after that I didn’t remember. As far as I knew I slipped into sweet unconsciousness right then and there, leaving him without answers, and, more than likely, pissed as hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long compared to the other chapters and thank you for reading!  
I've just started a new job so the updates are going to slow down, but I'm going to try and keep up at least once a week.  
I sincerely hope this chapter was worth the wait, I really hemmed and hawed over it a lot longer than I should have. Like I mentioned before, writing romantic stuff isn't something I've done much of so I spent a lot of time worrying that it was either too cheesy or not cheesy enough and everything in between. Let me know how I did!


	7. Heading Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire is finally ready to leave Goodneighbor, when she's asked to visit Mayor Hancock on the way out.

The next morning I rolled out of bed well past when I’d intended. The sun was high and bright, burning though my shades, and I felt like an absolute shit storm. I’d smoked too many cigarettes, as I often did when I drank heavy, leaving my chest feeling tight and my throat sore to couple with the pounding in my skull. I coughed until I was left bent and dry heaving over the edge of the bed, speckles of blood misted across my open palm. I popped a rad-x, chugged the last of my purified water, and forced myself to eat a can of cram. It was a Radaway day for sure. I mulled over last night’s activities and gave myself a thorough mental thrashing while the chems did their work. You fucked that up, Claire, good job. 

I’d almost gotten my shit together to leave when I heard a knock at the door. It was the hotel’s manager, who, ironically, was also named Clair. 

“Yeah, wassup,” I mumbled, still feeling hazy.

“Mayor Hancock came in looking for you,” she said through the door, “He want’s to see you before you leave.”

“Got it, thank you,” I said, then muttered, “Fucking fantastic.”

I gathered my shit, hopefully for the last time, and set out for the Statehouse. 

I found him in his office scribbling over some papers at his desk, his bodyguard strangely absent. I gave a hesitant knock to the door and he glanced my way. If he was bent out of shape about the night before he didn’t act it, pushing back his chair and throwing me a friendly greeting.

“You wanted to see me?” I said.

“You bet your ass I did.” He pulled out a large square package from behind his desk. “Mind explaining what the hell this was doing on my doorstep this morning?”

I squinted at it, the gears in my head doing their best, given my hangover, and I finally remembered. 

“Pickman,” I muttered, squeezing my thumb and forefinger into my aching eye sockets.

“What?”

“It’s a gift from Pickman.”

I crossed over and peeled away the paper, revealing the painting I’d asked for. He’d finished it off with a shiny layer of lacquer that, thankfully, kept the smell at bay. The Mayor looked over my shoulder and whistled. 

“If that ain’t one of the weirdest things I ever saw,” he said. 

“Yeah, painted with raider blood too.”

“And he gave it to you why?”

“Because I asked for it.”

He gave me a wide eyed look before breaking off in a shrug.

“Ooookaay. Far be it from me to judge someone on what turns their crank.”

I noticed one of Pickman’s calling cards entangled in the twine and pulled it free. There was his trademark heart of blood and a note at the top that read: Thanks, Killer. I found a spot for it in my bag and stowed it away.

“And what are you planning to do with it?” He asked, lighting a cigarette.

“There’s no way I can take this back to The Castle, so howabout you keep it for now, call it an apology gift.” 

He looked at me like I had three heads, puffing away while I found an empty spot on the wall and hung it up. It struck an odd chord compared with the other, traditional style colonial art hanging around the Statehouse, but I didn’t think it mattered. The Mayor didn’t stop me, and stood staring at the thing in contemplation while his cigarette burned itself to ash.

“An apology gift, huh. For what exactly?”

“For last night.” I tried to read his expression, but he came off blank. “I made one hell of an ass out of myself.”

“Yeah…” He said, nodding slowly, though his voice was loose and distant, like he was only miming a response.

I waited a moment, confused and unsure of what to do. Maybe he was high or hungover or something and he wasn’t much for conversation. Whatever he was I felt like it was time to move out and started heading for the door. 

“If that’s all you needed then I’ll just be-”

“Hold it.” He turned away from the painting and tossed aside the dead cigarette. “We still got some things to discuss, friend.”

“Look if its about-”

He shook his head, face dead serious.

“It’s a lot bigger than that. Ever since you showed up here you’ve been nothin but trouble. The Shroud, that shit with Sinjin, and now I got a painting on my wall made outta raider blood. First you tell me you’re a merc, then some kinda military scout, and normally I’d be seein sideways over that sorta bullshit, but you know what, sister?” His expression cracked and he let out a wild laugh. “I think you’re just my kinda trouble.”

I stood to rigid attention, lips pursed into a tight line, and eyed him up and down. He didn’t wait for a reply, pacing the floor of his office in a manic line as he rambled on, more to himself than me.

“You’ve surprised me at every turn and I ain’t a guy who’s easily surprised. You know what that says…” He scrubbed at his face and muttered… “I’m gettin too damn comfortable. I’ve been livin the Mayoral lifestyle for too long and lemme tell ya, this classy little tricorner of mine is gettin heavy. Am I turnin into the man? Some kinda tyrant? I spend all my time puttin down people I would have been proud to scheme with just a few years ago.” He slowed his pacing and squinted up at the ceiling. “I think I need to take a walk. Get a grip on what really matters: living free.”

“You…you what?” I started as if struck, fingers tight around the strap of my rifle. “What about Goodneighbor? You can’t just leave, you’re the Mayor!” 

He didn’t seem fazed by my reaction, calmly popping a mentat and dismissing my concerns with a wave of his hand.

“Hey the Mayor’s still the Mayor, whether he’s in residence or not. Besides, Goodneighbor is about doin your own thing. If I don’t leave every once in awhile, the power’s gonna change me. Can’t have that. Plus I got a pretty reliable second in command.”

I relaxed a touch. So we wasn’t just abandoning his people on a whim and I didn’t have to retract all his personal progress. I pondered over who he meant to take his place and realized there was only one viable option.

“You mean Fahrenheit?”

“Who ya think takes care of all the shit when I’m out of commission? She’s competent and then some, maybe better than me. It’ll be fine.”

“So what are you gonna do?” I asked, cocking my hip and raising a brow. “Go off and have yourself a nice seaside getaway?”

He gave me a wry grin and passed his gaze along my figure in a manner too deliberate to be mistaken for innocent glances.

“How you feel about a good-looking ghoul watching your back?”

I made a good show of thinking it over, screwing up my face and tapping out a ponderous rhythm with my fingertips. This isn’t what I meant when I decided I wanted Goodneighbor on our side, but there were a lot of ways this could work out in my favor. Then again, I hadn’t elaborated on the particulars of what he was asking. If he was really interested in this he deserved to know exactly what he was in for, and that meant finally giving up my disguise. At this point it hardly mattered anyways; my vacation was over.

“Look, Mayor…” I avoided his eyes and crossed my arms. “If livin free is what you’re after I don’t think tailin me around is your best option.”

“Oh yeah.” He cast me a side eyed glance. “And what makes you say that.”

I turned to the window and looked out over Goodneighbor, fingers gripped around each elbow.

“The time I’ve spent here, it’s been somethin else.” He sidled up beside me, trying to catch my attention, but I focused on the drifters below. “But this ain’t usually what I do.”

He sighed and rolled his eyes. 

“So you don’t usually run around helpin people that need helpin?” 

“Well I…”

“Or hurtin people who need hurtin?”

“That’s not what I mean!” 

I whirled to face him, temper getting the better of me, but whatever I meant to say tumbled away. He was leaning up against the wall, picking his nails with the blade of his knife, grinning down at me with this knowing look. The snarl on my lips wilted, cheeks growing hot, and I found myself both loving and hating that confident smile. 

“How long have you known?” I said, locking his eyes with mine.

He gestured out the window with the blade of his knife. 

“Nothin goes on in this town without me hearin about it.” He flicked the knife closed and leaned forward. “And I’m pretty savvy on the goings on abroad. Savvy enough to know when I got a General in my midst, even if they’re playin at bein somebody else.”

“If you knew, why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

He broke the stare and shrugged.

“Everybody needs to cut loose now and again,” he said, “It ain’t my place to screw with that. Besides, it was real interesting to see you work up close and personal. I alway’s pegged the Minutemen as a group that didn’t like to get their hands dirty, a bit too stuck on themselves for my tastes, but you sure know how to prove a guy wrong.” He stuck out his hand for me to shake. “So now that that’s outta the way let’s get back to business. You up to get this party started or what?” 

I contemplated the outstretched hand, the swagger of his shoulders, the cocky grin, and finally, the sincerity in his eyes. 

“Fuck it.” I laughed and shook his hand. “I hope you don’t regret what you’ve signed up for.”

“Don’t count on it, sister.” His eyes gleamed. “Just gotta have a little chat with my community. I’ll meet ya afterwards.”

Leaving me stunned he disappeared through his balcony door. I was still processing what had happened when Fahrenheit stepped in from the Statehouse. If looks could kill my corpse would have hit the floor in two seconds flat.

“I’m not here for trouble,” she said, directly contradicting the murder in her glare, “I’m just here to tell you to watch his back.”

“You won’t have to worry about that,” I said, “I’ll bring him back in one piece.”

“You’d better.” Came her stark reply. And with that she turned and disappeared back to where she’d come from.

Beyond the balcony door I heard the sound of cheering. Whatever he was saying out there was apparently a hit. After a few minutes he came back in, gathered up his shotgun and a rucksack full of only god knows what, then flashed a debonair grin.

“You ready to get this freakshow on the road?” He asked.

“You got it, man.” I said, meeting him with a grin of my own.

Goodneighbor had unloaded one last surprise on me, and I was no more prepared for it than anything else the town had thrown my way. We said our goodbyes and left for the The Castle, our bags loaded to bursting with supplies from Daisy and KL-E-O, and I couldn’t help but feel that things were looking up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for making it this far!  
This chapter is a shorty, honestly it's the end half of the last one that I lopped off because I hated it and wanted to give it some more edit time. I still don't like it, but it provides a conclusion for most of the events so far, which is a good point to leave off on for now. I really appreciate all of you that read this and especially those of you who threw down kudos or commented, your encouragement means a ton! 
> 
> It may be awhile before any updates surface. I've added a second job to the roster and there's not a lot of time to put into this until things even out, so I really wanted to pause on a point that didn't leave too many loose ends, which is sorta satisfying but also really disappointing. I had lots of fun stuff planned. I was also considering a wholescale rewrite and repost in third person because I think getting to do scenes from other perspectives would be a better read and more fun for me to write. I dunno, just spit balling here. Anyways, thanks again for all your support and with some luck and free time maybe I'll be able to keep this thing alive.


	8. The View From Above

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire spots the Prydwen as she and Mayor Hancock set out for The Castle and recalls her first arrival aboard. Attuned to Radio Freedom, they receive an emergency broadcast directing them to a nearby settlement, and it seems, once again, that Claire's plans have been delayed.

We headed south from Goodneighbor along the remains of a major highway. As we passed beyond the echoes of Boston and the ruined sky scrapers gave way to turned out domiciles, roofs concaved and gutted like wayward animal carcasses, I couldn’t help but catch glimpses of the hulking sky titan to the east, glittering silver in the morning light. It hovered over Boston airport like a beast protecting its brood, all within its shadow taking solace in the might of its firepower, the sheer fuck you buddy, just try and take me on energy that radiated from the airship was enough to keep anyone far, far away. The Prydwen though, was just a thing, imposing as she was. The real beasts lurked within.

The first time I’d seen the Prydwen had been truly awe inspiring, like watching a movie monster lurch to life, but the the first time I’d been on it was something else entirely. After Nick and I had wrapped up the Eddie Winter tapes I’d radioed Preston to give him the shitty news.

“Please be careful, General.” His voice was broken through the radio static, stilted and robotic. “We don’t know what these guys are capable of.”

I recalled the Prydwen’s mounted cannons. Her flock of minigun outfitted vertibirds. I had a better idea than most.

“Don’t worry, Preston,” I said, “I can handle myself. You be sure to take care of the Minutemen while I’m gone.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said, “Preston, over and out.”

From there I’d joined Paladin Danse at the Cambridge Police Station. Our relationship with the station had been good so far, not necessarily friendly but amicable enough. We’d set up a supply line to and from Sanctuary, trading them food and ammunition for scrap and whatever electronics they didn’t want to archive. With the arrival of the Prydwen that supply line was no longer necessary for their continued survival, as the airship had its own established distributive order for supplies, but for a good while they had relied on us and from the seeds of that collaboration an uneasy trust had grown between the Brotherhood and the Minutemen.

Danse welcomed me to the station with a curt salute and a nod. He and his contingency were looking much better than the last time I’d been through, less lean and haunted. The Prydwen had certainly rallied them into a second wind. Danse himself had gained something less physical from her presence, an almost tangible aura of pride and confidence that showed in the jaunt of his walk and the glimmer of his eyes. 

“Glad you’re back,” he said, “I’ve been needing to speak with you.” 

He led me away from his underlings, Rhys and Haylen, the former eyeing me with blatant distaste and the latter offering a supportive smile, up the stairs and towards the roof. He paused at the door outside, looking down at me with pinched brows. I met his stare with cold calculation, though my hands felt sweaty in my leather gloves, and kept my expression blank.

“What’s this about, Paladin?” I asked.

“You’ve been performing exceptionally, General. The work you’ve done for the Brotherhood hasn’t gone unnoticed or unappreciated.”

“Feeling’s mutual.” I nodded. “The settlements around Sanctuary are startin to bounce back thanks to the tech your knights have salvaged.”

A smile fluttered along his lips.

“Elder Maxson has taken interest in our reports regarding your assistance and has expressed a desire to speak with you personally regarding your involvement here. I’ve recieved orders that we’re both to report to the Prydwen.”

He paused to gauge my reaction, beaming with excitement, and I felt a little guilty that I didn’t immediately jump for joy. He seemed to really look up to his Maxson guy and it was clear that the invitation was supposed to be some kind of honor.

“I’ve recommended that you be awarded the rank of Knight,” he continued, “It won’t be official until after you’ve spoken with Elder Maxson, but I wanted you to be the first to know.”

“Thank you!” I said, trying to sound enthused.

“Thanks aren’t necessary, just continue excelling at your duties, General.”

He paused, a warm smile finally breaking free and crinkling the corners of his eyes as he glanced down at me. I felt my face flush at the softness there, hidden beneath his metallic shell, and couldn’t help but return to my dangerous delusion, that he was alternate universe Nate, just waiting for us to fall together all over again. But it was only for a moment, the sadness drifting across my heart like storm clouds then passing on again. You know what they say about being fooled twice. 

I still saw so much of Nate in him, but with time the illusion had tattered and the essence of Danse had powered through. The scar over his right eye, his fondness of laser rifles (Nate had preferred traditional weapons, like myself), and his stalwart refusal to laugh aloud. Nate had always been an easy laugh. 

“Humor is the last barricade between me and the shit of reality,” Nate would say, his grin wide and lopsided, the neck of his beer poised between his thumb and forefinger, “If the day comes I stop laughin, its up to you to pop me off my dear. Rather you than those damned red Chinese.” 

We’d both have a good laugh. Back then the idea of losing him had been far away. Not impossible, he was due to ship to Anchorage in a few months, but right then, in that last golden summer leading up to the dreaded October fallout, the possibility was like a ghost. It lurked in vulnerable corners like the shower before dawn or at my bedside in the deepest part of night, when I’d wake from nightmares and stare listless to the ceiling, counting tiles until sleep crept back into my bed like a faithless lover. Sometimes it would haunt at strange hours, rattling my bones as I stared out the kitchen window washing dishes. Nate would be bent over the lawn mower or the rototiller or the seed spreader or whatever and I’d catch his eye. He’d wave and smile. I’d return the gesture, but the pits of my stomach would clench and the plate would clatter away from lifeless fingertips as I pondered the very real chance he’d go off to Anchorage and never come back to fawn over that green lawn of his again.

I could not see Danse poised over a green lawn, hands on his hips, a smirk of satisfaction perched upon his face. I could not see him belly laughing over a joke on TV, holding his sides, breath hitching until tears streamed down rugged cheeks. I could not see him holding a tiny bundle of soft blankets and wide eyes with a tender care that defied the awkward size and harsh callouses of his hands. I needed that distinction, otherwise I don’t think I’d have been able to climb into the vertibird behind him and take off into the sky, headed to Boston airport and the floating leviathan above. 

I clutched the handles of the vertibird’s mounted minigun with all the strength I could muster. I wasn’t a fan of flying by any standard and the open sides unnerved me to no end. However, as we increased altitude and the buildings shrank beneath us the fear began to melt away, replaced by the strangest sense of smallness I had ever felt. Looking out across the ravaged vistas of post-apocalyptic reality the gravity of my task settled onto my shoulders like a two ton boulder and for a manic second I thought the vertibird would flounder and plummet beneath the weight. Despite everything I’d done, all the good I’d tried to sow, how rational was it to believe that mankind could crawl out of this devastation and rise to a new horizon? There was so much stacked against us, hostility on every side, and the chance for safety and prosperity for the people in my settlements suddenly seemed like a silly dream.

“The Commonwealth looks different from up here, doesn’t it?” Said Danse, hollering over the noise and breaking me out of my gloomy thoughts.

“You can say that again…”

“It never ceases to amaze me how drastically your perception of the battlefield changes from the air.” His eyes were wide with a quiet awe as he surveyed the landscape below and his words echoed with resolute determination. “We’re going to need that edge when we take on the Institute. They’ve already proven that they’re technologically superior, which means there’s no telling what types of weapons they have in their arsenal. Hopefully, our air superiority and tactical know-how will make the difference. Now all we have to do is find them… and I’m betting that Elder Maxson will have a plan already in place by the time we arrive.”

“You sure put a lot of stock in this Maxson guy,” I said, “What makes you so sure he’s got all the answers?”

Danse’s eyebrows furrowed until they were almost touching, his mouth screwed into a look of pure offense.  
“Maxon’s a hero, a natural born leader,” He said, “If there’s anyone who can steer the Brotherhood to victory its him.”

I barely heard his reply, entranced as I was with the ants below, scuttling between buildings and along winding ribbons of highway. Small creatures living small lives and I was one of them, one of many insects vying for survival in the wasteland. General, Knight, sole survivor. The titles were arbitrary. Who was I to go about enforcing my pre-war sense of justice on this wild new world? Did it really have a place here at all? Danse seemed to sense my melancholy and tried to divert my attention, pointing one armored hand towards the airship’s looming figure. 

“There she is. It’s been far too long since I’ve been aboard.”

He swelled with pride, his senses bolstered by the sight of the rapidly approaching behemoth.

“We call that ship the Prydwen. She’s loaded with enough troops and supplies to mount a major offensive. We’ll be meeting Lancer Captain Kells on the flight deck.”

The vertibird settled into the flight deck with a practiced smoothness, our pilot cutting the engines and giving us the go ahead to disembark. I was happy to remove myself. The first few steps were cautious and unsure and I clung to the railing as tightly as I’d clung to the minigun. Against my better judgement I stared over the side and into the void, the vertigo twisting my stomach until my knees felt weak and my head swam. I clenched my eyes shut and forced deep breaths, only opening them once I was sure that I wouldn’t faint dead away. Once I’d adjusted, the sights from the Prydwen were truly astounding. I gazed over the ruins of Boston with a ponderous sadness that I couldn’t shake, my pre-war memory and its current state oscillating back and forth in my mind’s eye. Like the feeling of pervasive smallness on the vertibird, the sight of Boston from the flight deck instilled in me a feeling I’d never felt before; a dark desire to leap the railing, to plummet hundreds of feet below in the hopes of waking up from the horrid nightmare the world had become. The concept wasn’t any crazier than anything else I’d seen so far, and I lingered over the prospect for far longer than I care to admit, only breaking from the idea when I caught sight of something else across the harbor to the south.

There was The Castle, the scaffolding surrounding the battlements clearly visible even from this distance. The cement to repair the walls had been a hard find, but the walls were nearly repaired, shored up greater even than their former glory. I couldn’t see any of my men from here but I could imagine them bustling in their barracks, eating in the mess hall, patrolling along the ramparts, and manning the newly constructed artillery guns at each of the fort’s five corners. That was something good in all this madness, surely that was something worth fighting for. I imagined the fort’s doctor, Lancaster, overseeing patients in the medical ward we’d built, or Preston, holed up in the General’s office, fussing over supply lines and caps, or Charlie, manning the broadcast of Radio Freedom.

“All quiet, which is how we like it,” I mumbled, “Stay safe out there.”

“You alright there, soldier?” Asked Danse.

“Just fine.” 

I laughed and turned away from the railing. Danse gave me a questioning look that said he wasn’t satisfied, but the bark of a man behind him pushed him past the thought. Danse about faced and saluted. The man’s brow was deeply furrowed, lips pursed into a vicious line so that his mouth looked more like an angry slash across the bottom of his face. He stood tall and rigid, hands clasped behind his back. He had the air of an officer, and if I had any doubts they were dispelled by the fancy hat perched atop his head. This must be Lancer Captain Kells. I strode to Danse’s side and mimicked his salute, not looking to start off my first visit to the Prydwen with a poor impression.

“Permission to come aboard, Sir,” Said Danse, easing his salute.

“Permission granted, and welcome back Paladin,” said Kells, “Allow me to congratulate you on a successful mission.” Kell’s looked me up at down like an animal at auction. “And this is the…General?”

“Yes Sir,” said Danse, “I’d like to sponsor her entry into our ranks personally.”

“Yes, we’ve read the reports. You’ll be pleased to know that Elder Maxson’s approved your request, and placed her in your charge.”

“And my current orders?”

“You are to remain on the Prydwen and await further instructions.”

“Very good, Sir. Ad Victorium, Captain.”

“Ad Victorium, Paladin.”

They saluted each other and Danse left for the airship’s innards, leaving me alone with Captain Kells. His eyes narrowed, visage growing sour.

“So you’re the one Paladin Danse has taken under his wing. He seems to think you’ll make a fine addition to the Brotherhood, but you don’t look much like a soldier to me.”

“And what’s a soldier supposed to look like?” I asked, temper getting the better of me. 

“A soldier is supposed to be an efficient killing machine, not a relic from the past playing catch up with the rest of the world.” I bristled at his words, but held my tongue. “If Danse hadn’t stepped in and vouched for you, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation. Dealings with outsiders has proven disastrous in the past.”

“I can assure you, Sir, I have no ill intention towards the Brotherhood.” I did my best to sound professional and diplomatic, keeping my tone even and sure. “I’m only interested in striking an alliance between yourselves and the Minutemen.”

“Right.” He scoffed. “And what could the Minutemen possibly have to offer the Brotherhood?”

“We’re more capable than you give us credit for, Sir.” My irritation was close to boiling over and the answer came out strained. “You’ve said you read the reports. We provided a great deal of assistance to the Cambridge Police Station.”

“True.” He nodded, but his countenance remained stoic. “But let me make one thing clear. The Brotherhood of Steel has traveled to the Commonwealth with a specific goal in mind. As the Captain of this vessel I won’t allow anyone to jeopardize our mission, no matter how valuable they think they are. Understood?”

“Absolutely.” I saluted, fist snapping over my heart. “What now, sir?”

He returned my salute and ordered me to the command deck. Apparently there was another act to this rigmarole I had to get through. God what a fancy bunch of weirdos these Brotherhood people were turning out to be. I’d thought the whole Knight, Paladin, Initiate organization was strange from the get go, but this was getting ridiculous. 

I followed in Danse’s footsteps towards the main hulk of the Prydwen, steeping between two heavily outfitted knights and inside. I gave them each a nervous nod and a tip of the hat, but they didn’t return the nicety, staring down at me through the lenses of their helmets, bug eyed and inhuman. Through the doors and across the corridor I could see a rigid line of initiates listening to the beginning of a speech from who I assumed to be Elder Maxson. I listened from the doorway, taking in the presence of the man who warranted such a high degree of respect from his subordinates. He was much younger than I’d expected, my age or even less, though his rugged beard and scarred features gave the impression of experience. He was a snappy dresser, which I could always appreciate, and found his coat to be quite tasteful, its dark length contrasting nicely with the white fur edging of the collar. It certainly looked like a military sort of coat, like something an ace pilot in an adventure movie would wear, but the overall aesthetic gave off a grizzled mountain man feel to me and I couldn’t help but imagine him standing triumphantly over the corpse of a bear, beset on all sides by dense pine trees and swirling snow. I was so caught up in the imagined scene that I missed most of his speech, picking it back up somewhere towards the end.

“Therefore, The Institute and their synths are considered enemies of The Brotherhood of Steel, and should be dealt with swiftly and mercilessly. This campaign will be costly…and many lives will be lost, but in the end we will be saving human kind from its worst enemy: itself.”

He saluted and finished his speech with a rousing Ad Victorium, which the onlookers repeated with infectious enthusiasm. Afterwards, they filed out of the room, and I was able to approach Maxson in relative privacy.

“Elder Maxson, I presume.” I saluted and he greeted me likewise, eyeing my General’s uniform with something between distaste and confusion. 

“Correct,” he stated, voice grizzled as his face, “And you must be The General.”

I nodded and tipped the brim of my hat. He turned and gestured for me to follow, staring though the windows of the observation deck at the bustling hive below. I joined him, keeping the awe I felt at the sight in check. 

“I really care about them you know.” The husk of his voice dipped to a somber whisper. “The people of the Commonwealth.”

“Looks to me like you’re preparing for a war.” I eyed the rows of power armor, the army at his disposal. The Minutemen may have them on numbers, but they certainly had us on firepower and training. If we went toe to toe with the Brotherhood it would be like the Revolution of old, a militia of farmers against an army of soldiers. I didn’t like those odds. Lightening doesn’t tend to strike the same place twice.

“The Brotherhood’s here to prevent a war by starting one of our own,” he replied, unphased, “The difference is, our war won’t reduce civilization to ashes.”

“You sure about that?” I crossed my arms and shot him a vicious stare. “After all, most people don’t have an airship to retreat to. If your war with the Institute goes poorly, it’ll be the people of the Commonwealth who pay for it.”

“Our victory will be absolute,” he said, meeting my eyes with a zealots surety, “We cannot allow them the opportunity to repeat the mistakes of the past.”

“I don’t know if I agree with all your dogma, Elder, but that’s something we can both agree on.” I sighed and adjusted my sunglasses. “So what is it you want from me?”

“I want you to start taking responsibility for this planet. To start making a difference on the grander scale.” Maxson’s voice swelled with fierce intensity. “Paladin Danse reports that you’ve already begun that journey through the Minutemen. With us you’d be able to expand your efforts infinitely.”

“I’m not interested in infinity,” I retorted, “I’m interested in the Commonwealth. But, we have a common goal and a common enemy, it only makes sense for us to work alongside each other. Are you interested in an alliance?”

“What exactly do you propose?”

“An army of your size takes a lot of feeding,” I began, choosing my words carefully, “and the settlements are always in need of building supplies and defensive fortifications. Its a simple exchange, really.”

“And what about you?” He asked. “Will you assist the Brotherhood in its missions throughout the Commonwealth”

“I’ll do whatever it takes.” 

He seemed to like my answer, the edges of his lips twitching into some semblance of a smile. I was struck with a terrible feeling of making a deal with the devil, but held my mettle. It was either work with them or fight them, and though I wondered how long our deal would hold I knew that the people below deserved a chance at an alliance before we resorted to drastic measures, though there were many aspects of the Brotherhood I did not agree with.

“Excellent,” said Maxson, “From this moment forward, I’m granting you the rank of Knight. And, befitting your title, we’re granting you a suit of power armor to protect you on the field of battle. Wear it with pride.”

“I’ll do my best to live up to it, Elder.” I saluted and he responded in kind.

“I’m sure you will. For now, familiarize yourself with the Prydwen. Specifically I want to to report to Proctor Teagan to finalize our arrangement. Afterwards, report to Paladin Danse for further instruction. Welcome aboard General. Ad Victorium.”

When I left that room I’d never wanted a glass of whiskey so badly since I buried my husband. Nick Valentine’s word’s echoed in my head.

“All the resources they got, they could do a lot of good, but they’re more interested in wiping out anybody who don’t agree with them.”

I felt an awful twinge of dread worm its way along my spine and hoped to whatever powers may be that I’d made the right call. 

“...Like talkin to a brick wall sometimes.”

Hancock’s voice snapped me back to the present so hard I nearly got whiplash, tearing my eyes off the Prydwen and looking towards him I gave an apologetic smile. He eyed me curiously, one brow arched and ponderous.

“Sorry, what were you saying?” I asked.

“Just askin how far this place of yours is.”

“Not far,” I said, “We should be there by this afternoon, assuming we don’t run into any problems. In fact,” I adjusted the dial of my pip boy until it caught Radio Freedom’s broadcast. 

We’d been working on additional towers to expand the signal, but it still came in fuzzy sometimes, worse the further you were from The Castle. The soft violin came through a bit discordant at first, strengthening as I honed in on the signal, before settling into a pleasant lull. Hancock rolled his eyes.

“That’s your idea of travelin tunes? And I thought that Travis kid in Diamond City sucked.”

“It’s not for the tunes,” I said, and as if on cue the soft trill of the violin cut out, replaced by Charlie’s no nonsense announcer voice. 

“Attention Minutemen, raiders have been reported at Jamaica Plain. Any local Minutemen please respond. I repeat, raiders reported at Jamaica Plain, any local Minutemen please respond.”

I gestured to my pipboy as if to illustrate my point, the broadcast ending and rolling back into the violin. Hancock couldn’t resist a toothy grin, breaking his shotgun over his forearm and checking to ensure it was loaded and ready. He flicked it closed with one fluid motion and rested it against his shoulder. 

“Change of plans then?” He asked.

“Yeah,” I growled, checking over my rifle, “Looks like it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> I enjoyed writing this chapter for the interactions between Claire and the BOS. It always disappointed me that even if you were the General with the Castle and everything, even a bunch of settlements, the BOS still treated you like a McNobody once you came aboard. I guess, in the context of their much more widespread influence, a small time regional leader IS a McNobody, but I still feel the encounter had the potential for more flavor. 
> 
> I'm also very excited for the upcoming altercation at Jamaica Plain. Its gonna be fun.
> 
> Thanks again for reading! Hopefully i'll get the next installment out soon.


End file.
